Fire Demon
by Minnionette
Summary: AU-Born a fire demon, Harry's raging firestorm destroys Voldemort. A dysfunctional and curious crow demon from another dimension pops up to investigate, and is given Harry to raise and train in his new powers. In retrospect, it seemed like a good idea.
1. Chapter One: Process of Adoption

The ghost of James Potter stared down thoughtfully at his one-year-old son as bright orange flames with centers of blue danced around them. Harry giggled and reached out to touch a burning beam that lay strewn before him. The fire curved gently around his hands and ran down the length of his arms without burning him, illuminating faint red symbol-like markings that covered Harry's body. One single symbol, a lightening bolt-shaped mark, was remarkably prominent on his forehead, brighter in color than the other markings, discernable in shape if not their bright red color, on his body. Harry did not seem concerned that the house's roof had just collapsed and the rest of the house was burning down, nor did he care that his clothes had burned off and he was naked.

Children are often such unaffected by socialistic values concerning modesty.

Every now and then, Harry glanced over to where James floated and giggled. Once, he tried to offer his father a handful of flames, but James declined. Slightly disheartened, Harry turned back to playing with the burning embers.

James smiled nervously as he watched. Despite being dead (or, rather, _because_ he was dead) he was having a great deal of difficulty understanding that Harry was immune to fire. His mind refused to touch on how Harry had managed to summon a firestorm forth to obliterate Voldemort and the entire house when Voldemort cast the Avada Kedavra spell. The immunity _could_ come from a wizarding child's natural protection, if he stretched the theory long enough, but he was sure there was some great Wizarding professor out there rolling his grave, ready to haunt James for such thoughts. Could it be considered immunity? It seemed to James that the fire was an integral part of Harry's natural being, as fire did no more harm to Harry than did breathing air.

James sighed. Harry giggled again and crawled over to his father. "Up! Up!" Harry held his arms out to his father and stared pleadingly. James reached out to touch Harry, but his hand passed through. Harry shrank away from the cold touch and his mouth trembled. A fleeting sense of sorrow filled James at the sight of Harry's confusion. "Da?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," James whispered, "I'll never be able to touch you again." Harry sniffled and looked away from James. His eyes fell upon a single flame that desperately clung to a single piece of tiling, so he reached out and grabbed the flame. It brightened momentarily in his cupped hands before flickering out. Harry's mouth trembled harder and it opened.

James leapt up and floated upside-down into Harry's vision before Harry could wail his frustration. "Harry!" James crossed his eyes, wrinkled his nose, and wagged his tongue at Harry. Harry's face froze, and then he squealed with laughter and reached out to his father. James pulled away from Harry's reach before he could be touched. "Can't catch me!" James said breathily as he waved his hands about. He made another face at Harry. "Can't catch me at all!" Harry giggled again.

James righted himself and watched Harry crawl off to play with another flame. "Come on, Dumbledore," he muttered. "Or _someone_. I can't stay here forever waiting for you people to help Harry."

"Will I do?" asked a voice behind James.

James whipped around and saw a little girl of perhaps eight staring up at him. This was the first time he had noticed her; just how long had she been standing there?

He squinted. At least he supposed she was staring. Her eyes were hidden behind gigantic mirrored sunglasses that took up half of her pointy face. Her black hair was gathered at the top of her head in a crooked ponytail and she wore a bright orange jumper with a column of the gaudiest mismatched glass buttons down the middle that James had ever had the misfortune of seeing.

"Who are you?" he asked warily. He floated between her and Harry. If she attacked, James was unsure of how he would protect Harry. She did not feel dangerous though; at least, not in the harmful aspect. There was a mischievous set of her mouth and a nervous energy that emitted from her frame. Looking at her as she shifted her weight from one foot to another and glanced around curiously, James easily recognized her as a person who couldn't sit still for long.

She smiled at James. Her mouth was wide and expansive. My, what a set of sharp teeth you have there, kid. " 'm Marcia." She had an accent where her syllables were flat and her words slightly slurred together. Its high-pitched tone spoke of habitual whining.

"And why are you here?" James took a wild gamble. "You're not with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, are you?"

Her eyebrows perked up, just slightly above the upper rim of her glasses. "Who?"

James gulped. He dared not say that name. Well, they were both dead now, so what did it matter anymore? He braced himself. "V-voldemort."

She cocked her head bird-like to the side. "Who?"

James leaned over for a closer look at Marcia. She leaned away from him. "You're not from around here, are you?" he asked finally. She shook her head hard enough for the end of her ponytail to whip around and smack her cheek.

"Technically, I don't exist, but I generally stay in my mother's kingdom out of trouble ever since the Beast got really, really mad at me." She pointed at Harry, who was playing with another handful of flames. "I was jumping dimensions when _his_ blast of power knocked me off-balance. Came here to see what sort of demon would be strong enough to rock an entire dimension."

James' eyes widened. "Demon?" Dimension?

Marcia shrugged. "He's a demonling, actually. Half demon." She scratched the jutting angle of her jaw. "Well_, sort of_ half demon."

"A half demon?" If Harry was half-demon, that must mean one of his parents was a full demon. James was sure he wasn't a demon, and Lily certainly never mentioned anything, so unless she had an affair – no, no, don't even go there with those thoughts. Even though he was dead, James could feel a headache forming.

A burning support beam toppled over and crashed into one wall, which crumbled beneath the impact. Harry jumped at the sound and whimpered, glancing over to James for assurance. James ignored him as he concentrated on Marcia. Sweat from the surrounding heat formed on her forehead and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Somewhere in your bloodlines," she said, not looking at him but at her surroundings, "a demon integrated itself; probably a male demon with a female human, since I've never known a female demon to abandon her children in the human world. She's more than likely to eat them first, and generally does, but we won't go there. The demon-gene from that time carried from person to person throughout various generations, until it reached a suitable carrier, which I would say is your son. Demon genes are _recessive_."

James thought about that. "So, in other words, my Harry is a demon, but he inherited it because it was something implanted generations ago?"

Marcia cocked her head to the side, in a manner that reminded him of his grandmother's chickens as they regarded an ugly bug worthy for eating, and seemed to give James' words some thought. "Close enough," she decided finally, almost to herself. "Only us animal demons are born looking like demons though. Rune demons - such as your son - have to get into some sort of trouble that causes their demon powers to manna, uh, _manifest_ in defense, but the demon genes have to exist co-dominantly with the human genes. Sometimes, rune demons can go through their entire life without manifesting, so they stay human."

"Rune demon?"

Marcia wiped the sweat away from her forehead again. "Rune demons all have elemental-like powers. At least," she muttered with a frown of distaste, "what _they_ consider to be elements, since fire is actually just an oxidized chemical and thermal reaction." She wagged one finger at her surroundings. "This is just an estimated guess, but I'd have to say your Harry's a fire demon."

James snorted. "What do you suppose gave his element away? The fact that this place is burning down because of it?" They both looked at Harry as he crawled over a fallen piece of blazing timber, unhindered by the heat. James pointed. "Or maybe _that_?"

Marcia frowned defensively. "Hey now, all I know about rune demons is what my father told me and my own research into the DNA. Sort of. Well, it isn't my research, but I gave them the idea." She muttered bitterly under her breath about how some people just are never satisfied — you feed and clothe and give them all sorts of nifty equipment and theories, and all they do is gripe about how they were kidnapped in the first place. "Sometimes, elements influence the personality, like my father's. Sometimes, they don't. Depends on how powerful the demon is, 'cause the less the personality influenced, the more powerful the demon. Did you know that kind of power your son mamin, er, created is probably that of a third-class demon's? At least, I suppose it is. Only time can tell, really."

James studied Harry. "If he's a fire demon, does this mean he's not a wizard?"

"Dunno." Marcia looked from Harry to James. "What's a wizard?"

James gave her an odd look. "You know about demons, but you don't know anything about wizards?"

Marcia's minuscule stature puffed up in indignation. "Hey. I can tell you a lot about hyper drives and hijacking space shuttles and how advanced mankind will be after it moves on past this earth it destroyed." She deflated slightly. "Course, I didn't know anything about demons either when I was born." She jabbed a finger in the air. "A wizard does hocus pocus and all that jibber-jabber, right?"

"We do magic with wands. Magic does exist," James said hurriedly as she opened her mouth to speak. "I'm currently waiting for the headmaster of my school of wizardry to show up so he can help Harry." James gazed sadly at his son. "My entire purpose for being here is to see to that Harry's cared for."

"Magic with wands?" Marci's finger tapped against her lips and she mumbled around it. "Wands, eh? Are wizards anything like druids or magi?"

James thought about that. He knew what druids were, but did not recognize the word _magi_. "I would imagine."

"Ah." Marcia walked over to Harry. Harry looked up from the red-hot coal he had been turning around and around in his hands. Marcia plopped down beside him and smiled. Harry giggled and reached up for her glasses and Marcia crossed her ankles to lean forward. Harry snatched her glasses away and studied them intently. He stuck one of the stems in his mouth.

Marcia looked over at James. Her eyes were large and dark red without irises, and very beady-looking, like two shiny glass buttons. "What sort of magic do wizards do?" Marcia asked. "Would it cover Harry's need to learn how to control his power?" She stared as Harry smiled toothily at her and smacked the floor with her glasses. "_I_ felt that blast. Don't think I'd like a third-class demonling growing without learning how to control his power." The wall behind her crumbled. She glanced quickly at the wall and then turned back to Harry.

An idea began to form in James' mind as Marcia tugged at the front of her jumper. Sweat poured profusely down her face and neck, but the fire was sucked away the moisture before it could dampen her clothes. " 'm hot," she said. "Gimmee those." She reached over and yanked her glasses out of Harry's hands. Harry's lower lip trembled as she slipped the glasses back on. "Let's get into cooler surroundings," she told James. She twisted around and pulled Harry close.

"It's okay," James told Harry. Harry's eyes flicked around uncertainly. James smiled and floated after them as Marcia leapt out of the burning house. Her tiny body coiled like a spring, compact and far stronger than what would have been possible for even a professional athlete, and a few hops, skips, and jumps carried her and Harry out of the house in mere seconds.

They stood outside on the walk that would have led to the front of the house. Marcia looked down at James' body, which lay where it had fallen when Voldemort killed James with his curse.

Marcia nudged it with the toe of her battered sneakers before looking at James. "What happened?"

"I was killed by You-Know-Who."

Marcia made a rude noise. "No, I don't know who," she said darkly. "So, who?"

"V-Voldemort."

She placed her hands on her hips. "There's that name again," she muttered. Her face scrunched up thoughtfully.

James crossed his arms as he gazed down at his crumpled form. "It's the name of a very powerful dark wizard bent upon taking over the world. Or, at least he was. Harry killed him with his fire when You-Know-Who attacked Harry with the Killing Curse. It was sort of an explosion of magic."

"Oh, I believe that." Marcia put Harry down on the ground just as he began to fuss. Harry crawled over to his father's body and clutched one limp hand. Marcia crouched down again and pointed at one of the faint red symbols that covered Harry's body. They were fading quickly, and were now only faint outlines of what they had once been. "See these? These are the Chaotic runes for _inferno_. As he gets older, Harry'll get stronger. He's going to have physical, um, traits beyond a normal human being's. A greater strength, speed, and agility won't make him much but a popular athlete. And when he's old enough to enter his rut, the runes will appear permanently like tattoos. If he doesn't get his training, he won't be able to control his fire, his speed or strength, know how to handle his rut, or even explain to people about the runes. He's always going to realize how different he is from other people. Sometimes the difference is really, really bad. And if his personality's influenced by his element, he's going to be a tad explosive when it comes to other people. Even if it isn't influenced, if he's the class I'm thinking he is, Harry's power is going to be considered a threat to other people. Hell, even at fourth-class he'd be considered a threat."

Marcia crossed her arms and thoughtfully cocked her head to the side. "See, people don't like what they don't understand. Your son'll be beyond the normal human being's comprop, compren — blah, my chip is going haywire 'cause of that blast — understanding and they'll hate him for it. Fire's not something to play around with, 'cause it burns. Your son may lose his temper and use his power in response on account of his not knowing how to control it. He could lose control of the power even if he doesn't lose his temper, simply because there's too much to control without the needed training." She shrugged. "Of course, considering what happened today, things _could_ get a little ugly."

"Were you teased?" James asked as he studied her intently.

"Only about my height. I'm not short, really. Just kind of, um, on the underdeveloped side," Marcia said quickly, a furtive look cast downward at her flat chest. "But teasing isn't the worst thing that can happen. A group of scientists experimented on my little brother and pushed _him_ a little too far." She turned the palms of her hands up. "All anyone ever knew about what happened to them were individual body pieces scattered everywhere, and blood drenching the walls and floors." Marcia looked down at Harry. "Nandin was only eleven years old. But he's a cat demonling, and animal demons are, um, animalistic. Well, all demons are, but animal demons tend to be more crude and violent than rune demons."

James studied her for a moment. "Would you take Harry?" he said finally. It felt right to ask her the question. She just stared blankly so James pushed all his jumbled thoughts together. A sense of urgency had him hurrying through them without much coherency. "Harry defeated Voldemort, and the whole world will worship him because of that. He'll be famous! I want him to grow up with a normal childhood. But he also needs to know how to control this power. You're the only one who seems to know anything about it, and I've met you, so I know who Harry is going to in case I have to haunt you for doing such a poor job at raising him."

James looked at the burning house, and then turned back to Marcia. She and Harry were outlined amidst the orange glow cast by the roaring fire, bright embers floating in the air all around. "I don't want him to hurt others with his power. I want him to be a wizard, but I don't know if he's going to be one if he's also a demon. If he _is_ a wizard, he should go to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But that won't happen for another ten years, and we both know he's a demon, so you may as well train him before that. So that," James pointed at the house, "won't happen. If it does, Harry will have someone who understands and isn't frightened." The Wizarding world had been more than frightened of Voldemort, who was human. How much more for little Harry, who wasn't human and still just a baby?

"Train him? As in fight?" Marcia's mouth twisted as if she had bitten into a lemon. She dug one toe into the ground. "Well, suppose I could."

James sighed. "I won't let you have him if you don't think you would make a good mother." Her expression changed slightly, a subtle shift from hoping _against_ to hoping _for_.

"_I_ could raise him like a son?" She could not keep the note of hopefulness in her voice.

James smiled; even if Marcia was a demon (or demonling), she had a woman's wistful want for a family. "Yes. But I want you to keep a steady contact with Professor Dumbledore, so Harry can at least know the heritage of his human family."

Marcia regarded Harry in silent thought. James waited patiently as Harry fussed with his dead body's hair. Marcia fidgeted nervously when she glanced at James. At one point, she grabbed her ponytail and yanked it sharply in frustration. Finally, she sighed. "Suppose," she said. She looked at James and blushed bright enough for the rushing blood to show despite her dark skin. "No one ever thought I'd make a good mother. 's not that I'm happy to have him through your misfortune, but…" Marcia's shoulders went up and down in a clunky shrug, and she looked resigned. "Or maybe I won't be a good mother. I really shouldn't take him."

James shook a hand at her. "Nonsense. My senses tell me you're a good person." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Or maybe it's actually the fuzzy headedness speaking."

"You _are_ disappearing," Marcia said in what she hoped was a helpful manner and pointed at James' feet. He looked down at them. He _was_ beginning to fade feet first, which meant that his wait for someone to care for Harry was now decidedly over.

"Harry'll be safe," James declared in a soft voice. He floated over to his son and knelt down before him. "Love you, son," he told Harry. He planted a chilling kiss right against the glowing lightening bolt-shaped mark. Harry gasped and shrank away from his father. James' heart twisted; at least, he supposed it did, even if he was a ghost. He turned to Marcia. "If you have any questions about wizards or Harry or anything, you can ask Dumbledore. You can trust him."

"Right."

"Stay here. I know someone will come soon, and if it isn't Dumbledore, then it's someone who knows where you can find him. You will need to tell him everything that you know about what happened. Beware of anyone from Voldemort, such as a Death Eater, because they'll only mean you harm."

Marcia nodded. "Right." She waved as James faded completely away. "Look for this Dumbledore guy. No Death Eaters from What's-His-Name. Bye."

Marcia and Harry looked at each. "Now what?" Marcia asked no one in particular. Harry stuck his lower lip out in a pout. She nodded her head. "You and me both, kid." She sat down beside Harry and grabbed one of his arms again to study the runes. There was only the faintest bit of color now to show they had ever existed, though the mark on his forehead still glowed brightly. "I'll have to talk to Dad about this," she muttered to herself. She traced the mark thoughtfully. "I don't think it's normal."

Harry looked at her with big green eyes. She grinned at him and patted him on the head. "You're cute." She looked around. "But you need some clothes." She walked over to the house, but paused before James' body. She stared at it a few minutes. With a sigh, she looked over to the house, craning her neck to get a better glimpse of it. She didn't suppose there would be any clothes to be had.

As if to agree, one burning wall collapsed forward. Marcia scratched her head as she contemplated current matters. She tried to remember how Mama had raised ten children. Marcia recalled a great deal of diapers and crying amongst the whole lot. When such matters arose, both she and Dad ran away before Mama could involve them in appeasing the crying or changing the diapers. "When in doubt," she decided aloud as she looked over her shoulder at Harry, "ask the expert." She walked over to Harry and picked him up. Harry looked at her uncertainly. "Of course, I have to wait to ask whoever about this Bumblebore, or whatever his name is." She started to carry Harry over to a near-by lamppost, but stopped.

Marcia shot a calculating look at James' body. "But if your father was killed by What's-His-Name, and you killed him, and this What's-His-Name was taking over the world, and your father expected me to know his name, then I guess he's really, really evil." She put Harry down on the ground. "And your father himself said not to trust those Death Eaters." She paused in her line of thought to follow a different thread. Just how does one eat death?

"Best be prepared, just in case." She walked around the small yard until she reached Lily's raised flower patches. There was a small brick wall, only knee-high, that surrounded the flower patches, so Marcia kicked the wall until it shattered. She tucked the heavier pieces into her pockets. Weighted down with the bricks, she clunked as she made her way back to Harry.

Harry was amusing himself by chewing on the singed grass he pulled free from the lawn. Marcia nodded approvingly as she sat next to him with a loud clunk. "Good boy," she said proudly as she patted him on the head. "My mother says a child should eat his greens, 'cause it's good for them." She plucked a few blades of grass. "And what could be greener than this?" Actually, they were sort of brown and sickly-looking from being too close to the burning house, but she dusted them off anyway and offered them to Harry. He clumsily snatched and stuck them in his mouth.

Marcia watched Harry gum contentedly on the grass blades before she decided to try one herself. She chewed on it for a moment before she decided grass was bland and tasteless. "Blah!" She twisted her face in displeasure. Harry giggled at the sight of it. "I'd probably get more taste out of chewing on one of Rufus' old leather boots."

She tossed the half-eaten grass blade away and rubbed the palm of her hands against her leggings, and then paused. She leapt to her feet, cocked her head to the side, and listened more closely. The roar of a running machine was gradually increasing. She looked around at the forest around the house, whose flames had greatly died down now that the walls had collapsed in itself, and gathered Harry up in her arms. Harry gasped as Marcia jumped from the ground to the top of the lamppost. She landed, and stood balanced on one foot, her free leg bent and braced against her other knee with Harry seated on the bent leg. Harry looked around in alarm and clung desperately to her arms as Marcia frowned and squinted at the night sky.

A motorcycle flew through the air, despite it not being hover-capable. Bah. Magic. Messing around with the wonders of physics (most of which Marcia never learned because she figured there were more brilliant people than she who had the memory space to waste memorizing that stuff). Marcia, dressed in bright orange with buttons that reflected light, and Harry, who was not wearing anything, were clearly outlined against the dark blue sky. However, the rider of the motorcycle did not seem to notice them. The motorcycle dropped out of the sky at a sharp angle, hit the ground with a loud crash, and skidded a few lengths before coming to a full stop. The rider jumped off the motorcycle and sprinted across the ground to James' body.

"JAMES?"

The rider was a lean young man with shoulder-length black hair. He flung his helmet to the side when he reached James' body and dropped to his knees beside it. "JAMES?" He grabbed at the stiffened arms, dropped them, and jumped to his feet again. He ran to the house, stopping just outside the reach of the flames. "LILY?" He turned away from the house with a ragged sob and glanced around wildly. "HARRY!" He cupped his hands around his mouth. "LILY! HARR-"

Marcia hugged Harry close to herself just as the man noticed her. He stared at her silently for a moment before stumbling over to them. "Who are - Harry! Is he all right? Give me Harry!"

Marcia regarded the man thoughtfully. "Are you Bumblebore?"

"Give me Harry!" She gathered that was a no. He didn't look like one anyway.

Marcia's grip tightened around Harry as he whimpered and clung to her. "No."

"Give me Harry!" The man whipped out a long thin stick from the waistband of his trousers and waved it menacingly at her. "He's my godson! Give him to me!"

Marcia shook her head. "No way. If you aren't Bumblebore, you can't have him."

"Dammit! He's in danger! Give him to me! I'll protect him!" The man wrapped his arms around the lamppost and shook it fiercely, his strength fueled by adrenaline. Marcia lost her balance. She grabbed the top of the lamppost with her right hand to keep from falling, her legs swinging wildly for purchase.

Harry whimpered. Marcia's diminutive chest swelled with a fierce protective feeling. "No." She propped Harry on the post's top and wrapped her left arm around him for protection.

When the man called her something Marcia's mother would have washed his mouth out with soap had _she_ heard, Marcia hooked both legs around the post to free her right hand, fished a brick out of her pocket, and threw at it at the man. "Language! There's a baby present!"

The brick shattered upon making contact with the man's head. He stumbled backwards as his hand flew up to touch the area of contact. He was dazed for a moment, his eyes crisscrossing and his entire body swaying. Did she knock what little sense he had left from his head? "Woman!" He seethed visibly with anger as he recovered, gritted his teeth, and went back to shaking the post.

Harry wailed and clung tighter to Marcia's arms. She quickly fished another brick out of her pocket and threw it at the man, but he managed to duck it. "GIVE HIM TO ME NOW!"

"NO!" Marcia threw two more. "James gave him to _me_!"

He dodged the first, but the second one got him in the shoulder. "Damn it!" His anger dissolved into sorrow. He looked long and hard at James's body, pain and sadness plain on his face, and then looked up at Marcia. "He's the son of my best friend." He slumped against the lamppost and looked ready to burst into tears.

Marcia looked at James's body with uncertainty. The man smelled sour, which was something she always attested to unstableness. On the other hand, he did not seem like he wanted to harm Harry. (Well, there was the small problem of his shaking the post while Harry was balanced on it, but that she could probably blame on the grief and how it made a person irrational - usually.) Still, unstableness was not a good thing with which to let a baby associate. Marcia chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. "James told me to look after Harry," she said as she waved at James's body. " 'm supposed to wait for some guy named Bumblebore or something like that." The man looked up at her with a lost look on his face. Marcia tried to sound helpful, "If you look for him, I wouldn't mind."

"If I looked—" As if someone had flipped a switch, the lost look dissolved into intense fury. "_Wormtail_," he hissed as his eyes narrowed dangerously. He ran over to the motorcycle, slammed on the clutch to start it, and then roared forward. He skidded to a stop beside the lamppost and cast Harry a longing look. "You'll give him to Dumbledore?" he asked softly. Well, that wasn't what she was going to do, but it was close enough. Marcia eagerly nodded her head to placate the man. He looked relieved as he revved the motorcycle and shot forward. The ground ripped beneath the spinning wheels. Just as he reached the edge of the sparse woods that wrapped around the burning house, the motorcycle lifted into the air and floated off. Marcia briefly wondered if flying helped the gas mileage — she knew it must help maintain the tires if they spent more time spinning in the air than they did on the ground.

"Mm?" Harry looked from the swiftly fading motorcycle to Marcia.

"That man," said Marcia to Harry as she pointed after him, "was a tad off his rocker. I don't want you to be with him in the future, 'kay? Least not until he's had some therapy." And from the way he smelled, it might very well be a _lot_ of therapy.

Marcia jumped off the lamppost and sat at the base with her back pressed firmly against it and Harry on her lap. She tried to remember games that her parents played with the younger children, but all she could think of was the old children's rhyme, "Patty cake, patty cake, baker's rhyme, bake me a cake as fast as you can." She decided to play it with Harry, but Harry did not know it. "I'll just teach you then," Marcia said as she grabbed Harry's hands. "It would be a good cagno, cogagnative, well, it would just be a good _learning_ experience."

After Marcia grew bored with the patty-cake game, she went on to play with Harry's fingers and toes. Harry squealed with laughter and delight for a while, but soon became restless and cranky. "Mum!" he snapped at Marcia as he hit her with one tiny fist. He reached out to James' body. "Da?" He wailed.

Marcia desperately looked around. "Where's Bumblebore?" she demanded loudly with a shade of hysteria. She jumped to her feet and propped Harry on one hip. He continued to wail and flail about in her arms. "Blast." She put Harry down on the ground. He continued to scream and fuss as he crawled over to James' body. "No! You can't do that. Dead bodies are icky. They have lots of germs." Marcia picked Harry up again. He screamed into Marcia's ear and kicked her sharply in the pelvis with his bare feet.

Marcia decided to come back to this dimension at a later date to speak to Bumblebore.

At this moment, she had a testy baby on her hands, she couldn't hear, and she was in desperate need of an expert's advise.

It was time to seek out Mama.

She tightened her grip on Harry and Jumped through the space and walls that separated the Realm of Reality from the Realm of Fantasy.

* * *

There are four Realms that exist. The first two, the Realms of Chaos and Order, are emotional states of existence. The last two, the Realms of Fantasy and Reality, are the physical states of existence. From the Realm of Fantasy came the unexplained, the exceptions to the rules, and manifestations of energies that bent the rules of reality by any which means. Magic leaked from the Realm of Fantasy into the Realm of Reality, and Marcia Jumped from one Realm to the next through the holes from which the magic leaked. She found her trail of essence from earlier. It stopped abruptly at the dimensional intersection, where she had been bowled over by Harry's blast of demonic power. She made a special note of which dimension this Harry originally belonged in, and then hurried on to the Realm of Fantasy. Upon entrance, Marcia slipped across space to reach her mother's kingdom.

Ria Runesking was a little albino whom Winter had chosen as its Queen. She was married to the rune-demon king of East Greer, Turk, and Marcia was their daughter through adoption (or rather obnoxious manipulation, as was Marcia's usual way of getting the things she wanted). Ria ruled the frozen domain of Winter, and its People loved her for her kindly ways, which is to say taxes weren't so bad, especially during times of famine, and she wasn't nearly as unorthodox and mentally unstable as the Queen before her. She ruled the domain of Winter from the Winter's Ambit, a gigantic castle created from Winter itself. It was at this castle Marcia arrived. Harry stopped crying and stared with in open wonder or confusion at the walls of ice.

Marcia sighed gratefully as she dashed through the halls. Ria, who always had a great deal of trouble finding her own way about her own castle, had signs posted at every corner. Marcia followed the ones that read, "Queen's Quarters" with arrows pointing directions.

"Sydney."

Marcia skidded to a halt at the sound of her former name. She changed her name when she tried to change her life. While the changing of the name may have worked, the rest of her attempt at change did not. (It might have been helpful if she had been smart enough to realize that choosing the name suggested by the Lord of Chaos wasn't so great, but then hindsight is always twenty-twenty.) She turned her head to the corner of a hall where her brother, Nandin Sydney, stood. He was a small, dangerous man with a feline grace and beauty, although two heads taller than Marcia. His smoky gray hair seemed to float about his head as if it were a halo, and his eyes were covered with mirrored glasses much like Marcia's.

She had originally been named Sydney Geneve, courtesy of Nandin Sydney when he rescued her from a science compound where she, at the young age of three (), was studied for her demonic behaviors and physique. Marcia had been sold to science when she was only a year old, but at least it was slightly comforting to know it had been a very hefty sum. She and Nandin had a perfect brother/sister relationship from the very beginning: Marcia spent half her time being with Nandin and thereby irritating him to the point of his losing control, and then spent the rest of her time trying to avoid him until he was rational once more.

Family members were the only people she permitted to call her Sydney. Friends and strangers alike knew her as Marcia Runes. What her enemies called her was something entirely else, but she avoided that thought. Marcia was an expert with avoiding people, things, fights, and overall responsibility.

"Hello, Nandin!" Marcia skipped over to her brother and held Harry out to him. Harry and Nandin regarded one another with curiosity or, in Nandin's case, barely disguised disgust.

Nandin gestured at Harry. "What is _that_?"

"This," said Marcia as she stuck her chest out proudly, "is my son!"

Nandin peered over the frames of his mirrored glasses at Harry. His golden cat-like eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Your son?" It sounded more like a statement than a question. "What have you been doing behind our backs?" he mused thoughtfully. "On the other hand, it would explain why you've been gone for the past several years, blaming it all on the Lord of Chaos as you usually do."

Marcia sputtered wordlessly in protest. After a moment, she paused long enough to take a deep breath. "I didn't do nothing," she said resentfully as she pulled Harry close. "I was skipping through the dimensions when I was rocked by this blast of demonic power." She flung one arm wide. "The walls came crashing together, it was that immense, and I thought a demon was running amuck where it didn't belong. So I entered the dimension to investigate." She curled the flung arm around Harry as he began to fuss again. "Turned out to be a year old babe."

Nandin's eyebrows went up in surprise. " 'Tis a lot of power for a year old babe."

Marcia ignored him. "His father's ghost was there and he gave me Harry to take care of. I said that Harry would need to learn how to control his power and so he said that _I_ would be the best person for the job." Close enough, at least.

"Did he now?" Nandin's expression was cold and hard as he casually crossed his arms before himself. "Does his father know you can't even take care of yourself, let alone a baby?"

Marcia sputtered with indignation. "I can too take care of myself!"

"Sydney, you can't even boil water without somehow turning it into some toxic sludge that melts the bottom of the pot."

"That only happened twice."

"And most people still mistake you for being a child."

She stamped her foot. "Only 'cause I'm short."

Nandin rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Why would _anyone_ think _you_ would be a suitable mother?"

Marcia glared resentfully at him as she hugged Harry close to herself. "Well, I'm going to be a _great_ mother!"

"I'll believe it when I see it." Marcia whirled around, away from Nandin, and started to march down the hall. She stopped and turned around to face her brother.

"I think I would be a great mother for Harry," she began stubbornly, "because I know what it's like to be born as a demonling and having uncontrollable powers. Okay," she said rapidly before Nandin could interrupt, "so my powers weren't uncontrollable until I had that small accident with the sposomolecular device, but that's beside the point. Harry's family was killed What's-His-Name, so now he's got me, and Mama and Dad and you, and all our brothers and sisters and aunts and grandparents."

Nandin shook his head as he watched Marcia hurry down the hall when she finished her speech. Despite her not being present, he still had the last words: "Chaos and Order have mercy on the poor brat."

* * *

Marcia found her mother in her Stateroom, going over the year's accounts to decide taxation. "Mama?" Marcia peaked her head around the corner of the door.

Ria did not look up from her work. "No," she said.

Marcia blinked. "No? Whaddya mean, 'no'?"

"I know you want something, and I've not the time to pamper you."

Marcia stepped around the corner and walked over the desk Ria sat at. Ria, dressed in heavy red robes to keep warm, still did not look up from her calculations. She was a tiny, fragile-boned albino, the effects from childhood starvation. Had her face been full rather than sharp and harsh, she might have been considered pretty. Her right hand was crippled and twisted, having been crushed so many years ago when she was a little girl, while her left hand, which guided the ink pen, was decorated with a black dragon tattoo that stretched from knuckles to shoulder. Its red eyes, deeper and darker in color than Ria's light red eyes, stood out in direct contrast to her white skin. Although the dragon was flat and one-dimensional, there was something wickedly alive about it, typical of anything that could be considered a "gift" from the Lord of Chaos. ("A curse by any other name," Turk had once said to Marcia before she conned her would-be parents into adopting her, "is still a curse.")

Harry reached out to Ria's tattoo. His hand touched the black dragon, and the red slits for eyes flared wide as Ria snatched her arm from Harry's reach and leapt to her feet in shock.

Ria was barely a head taller than Marcia, but while Marcia just looked and acted like a child who raided her rebellious teenaged brother's stash of highly-illegal crack, Ria's calm demeanor and radiating sense of maternity made her appear as a woman. A tiny doll of a woman, but a woman nonetheless. Harry stared at Ria with hopeful eyes and reached out one tiny hand. Marcia looked down at Harry with motherly pride. "Look what I got!"

Ria eyed Harry suspiciously. "Put him back, Sydney," she said finally as she sat down. "His family must miss him."

Marcia winced. "Why does everyone assume the worst?" she demanded as she set Harry down on the icy floor. He seemed unbothered by his nudity. He crawled to Ria and grabbed two fistfuls of her red robes.

"Up!" Harry cried. "Up!"

"His parents are dead," Marcia said as Ria bent over and grabbed Harry. Ria settled him in her lap and began to assure herself that Harry was in possession of all ten fingers and toes.

Marcia decided to resort to babbling. "He's a little fire demonling and I came across him after his power manifested itself and said that he was going to be strong but he wouldn't know his power and his father said-"

"Don't forget to breathe, dear," Ria absently reminded Marcia as Harry played with the heavy pearl necklace that thrice circled her throat.

"-and his father said that I could train him and raise him but I should also see someone named Bumblebore - Dumbledore? My language chip is going haywire, too. Which I haven't done yet, but he was getting fussy so I brought him to you because I don't know what to do."

"Get some clothes on him," Ria said immediately. Harry stuck one strand of pearls in his mouth. She tugged them free from his mouth and grasp. "And then feed him."

"I gave him some greens!" Marcia declared proudly.

"What sort? Leafed or non-leafed?"

Marcia tried to remember of grass was technically leafed. It had been a few centuries since she had studied anything remotely involving biology. "I think it was leafed," she said finally.

"What about fruits?"

"Um…"

"Vegetables? Meats? Grains? He's certainly old enough to begin eating solid foods. No honey or molasses though, and easy on the fruits."

"All right, all right." Marcia reached for Harry. "I'll give him a well-rounded meal."

"Sydney." Ria ignored Marcia's attempt to grab Harry. "A baby is a great deal of responsibility."

Marcia looked offended. "I can be responsible."

"You have never given me reason to believe you are responsible." Ria held her non-crippled hand up before Marcia could protest. "You run every time someone mentions work. You hide whenever the thought of doing something that is not fun arrives. You are not suitable to raise a child because you have no experience and little maturity to handle such responsibility."

In Marcia's experience, when a person was confronted with their faults, it's always best to plead guilty through someone else's negligence. "No one has ever given me a chance before!" Marcia waved her arms around in a mild fit, carefully watching so she didn't knock over anything expensive or difficult to clean. "Everyone in the family thinks I'm undependable and irresponsible, so why should I try to live up to non-existent expectations? I met Nandin in the hall and he wanted to know how anyone could mistake me for being suitable at motherhood. He even said I couldn't boil water without turning it into toxic sludge that melts the bottom of the pot!"

"It also went through three stories' worth of floors before it disappeared into the basement's ground to only the One knows where."

Marcia ignored Ria. "Any woman can be a great mother though, even someone like me!" Marcia grabbed the edges of the desk and peered across its width at her adopted mother. "And just because I don't act responsible doesn't necessarily mean that I'm not. I'm responsible when I have to be."

"Sydney—"

Seeing an opportunity to win the argument, Marcia interrupted Ria. "Right there! Right there, you see! That's a classic example about how people don't respect me. Why do I want to do something for someone if they can't respect me? If I don't do things for them, they think I'm lazy. But I don't want to do things for them! No one respects my decision to change my name, and I guess no one is going to respect the fact that someone thought _I'd_ be suitable to raise his child. No one's going to respect that maybe, just maybe, I _can_ be a mother to this child!"

Marcia slammed her fist into the desk to emphasis her point. The desk rattled and wood splintered. Marcia blinked guiltily at the long crack that now ran the length of the desk. "Oops." She looked sheepishly at her mother. "I didn't mean to hit the desk that hard."

Ria's closed expression caused a jolt of panic to race through Marcia. A stranger had believed her, and it was far more than what Marcia's own family thought she deserved. It had been enough for Marcia to hope she could achieve having a family she did not have to force herself upon, but all that threatened to wither up and die. What should have been supporting her instead deterred her goals.

Well, since a fit of righteous anger did not work, mayhap whining would. Whining had won her more arguments than anything else in her lifetime. (Well, except for violence, but Marcia didn't consider violence against her own mother – she wasn't Patches, for crying out loud!) Marcia pitched her voice higher to the tone that caused most people to agree to anything rather than be forced to listen to for a time. "Mama, I came here to ask your help. Doesn't that mean I'm at least _trying_ to be responsible? I don't know what to do, but that isn't to say that I'm not trying to change that so I can know what to do and so I can be a good mother, because I can't be a good mother if I don't try to use available resources that would allow me to know _how_ to be a good mother."

Ria leaned back against her chair. Harry yawned and dropped his head on to her chest to snuggle closer. Ria ran her crippled fingers through his hair. "Being a good mother," she said slowly, "is not something you learn from others, just as respect is something earned and not readily given. Being a good mother is raising a child to be a good person, and many times the children are different. It's experience and observation, mixed with wet diapers and teething and unexpected surprises." She chuckled softly and shook her head a little. "The One knows I raised twelve of you, and it's been different each time. You must adjust to suit the difference and needs of each child, and what may be good for one would not be good for another. It is something you never stop learning."

Marcia listened intently to her mother, nodding every now and again. She even schooled her face so she looked like she was concentrating on the words. When it came to persuading the Queen of Winter, it was best to lay it on thick. Attitude and eagerness, piled on top of the whining, would win her this victory.

"Motherhood isn't a rite or a passage or a stage of life. It's continuous, and honor that comes from it must be earned through the results of the children. That you want to learn how to raise a child safely and effectively does indeed show me you _are_ trying to be a good mother." With a resigned sigh, Ria cradled Harry in her arms and stood up. "Come along. I'll give you a quick lesson before I return to my numbers."

Harry grabbed Ria's pearls again as the woman swept down the hallway with Marcia closely at her heels. "But what about his family?" Ria asked suddenly. "You will, of course, do everything in your power to let him know about his real family. It's not right to deprive him or them of each other."

Marcia nodded her head vigorously. "Of course!"

Nothing more was said until they reached the nursery. While Ria's children were all grown up and had left to make their own lives (or at least to cause trouble where their mother could not catch them), Ria had kept the nursery clean and well-stocked with toys for grandchildren she still patiently awaited.

The nursery was a large, well-lit room. There were toys stacked in neat little piles; dolls, stuffed animals, toy soldiers, various building blocks. There were rocking chairs and rocking horses, a little tea set on a miniature table covered with a lacy white tablecloth and surrounded by chairs that matched the size of the table. Large dolls and stuffed animals occupied all but one of the chairs. Beyond the tea set was a little red wagon filled with blankets and pillows. It was to this wagon Ria went. She handed Harry to Marcia and began to remove the blankets and pillows. Harry wiggled in Marcia's grip and whimpered.

Marcia pumped him up and down in the air. "It's all right," she cooed. Harry swung his feet and fussed. When all but one blanket and two pillows were removed from the wagon and piled in a neat stack on the floor, Ria turned back to Marcia and grabbed Harry. He immediately calmed down and Marcia gave him an accusing look. Ria gently settled him on the pillows and wrapped the blanket around his naked body.

"And now to get some clothes." Ria's crippled hand grabbed the wagon's wooden handle. She paused a moment to carefully work the twisted fingers around the handle. "There are baby clothes kept in a storage room around here somewhere," she said to Marcia. She set off in search, studying the signs and pulling the wagon behind her.

Marcia trailed behind. Her mouth gaped open in a wide smile. "Mama, did you ever expect me to produce your first grandchild?"

Ria looked over her shoulder at Marcia. "After two hundred years of waiting for any grandchildren? I could almost swear the dozen of you are celibate, except I know half of you aren't." She turned around to open the nursery door. "Unfortunately, I find I must agree with your brother, Nandin: why _would_ anyone give you a child?"

Marcia sputtered wordlessly for a moment.

"Sydney, I do not, of course, mean to hurt your feelings," Ria added quickly, her voice kind. "I wouldn't give up any of my children to any stranger who came flitting along. I do ask how you came upon him, merely because most others have relatives the children can live with, not a stranger. And you said his father gave Harry to you, but his parents are dead."

"Would you give us up if you were dead at the same time?" Marcia grumbled.

Ria stopped abruptly, confusion clear on her face. "How could anyone give you something if they were dead?" Marcia knew the look of Ria's face; _how in the world did you become the beneficiary of someone's estate and dependants?_

"He was a ghost," Marcia said firmly. She crossed her arms before herself. "Was skipping dimensions when I was rocked with this blast of power." Marcia gave her mother a slightly edited version of what happened, paraphrasing a few things so she wouldn't have to make up an explanation of this Voldie fellow or these wizards folk. "So then he asked me if I would teach him." Marcia shrugged. " 's not as if it's my idea. So then he decided I would make good mother material, told me to tell Bumbledore, and then faded away."

"Ah." Ria frowned thoughtfully. "So you were at the right place at the right time. Well, that would make sense." She stopped in the hallway and opened a door. It opened up to a closet filled with clothes on hangers. Many of the clothes were tiny and doll-like, and systematically arranged by size, and then color. Female-oriented clothes hung to the left and male-oriented clothes hung to the right.

Ria carried Harry to the middle of the closet. "Babies take time, energy, and above all else, patience. They are like blank slates; anything anyone says or does will be stored away as influence of some sort." She looked suddenly at Marcia, as if it just occurred to her what sort of person would be raising Harry.

One of Marcia's eyebrows went up. "What? What did I do now?"

Ria turned away. "Nothing," she muttered. She stared thoughtfully at the clothes, and then grabbed a small blue jumpsuit from off its hanger. She tossed it to Marcia. "Let's see how you dress Harry," she said as she folded her hands demurely before herself. "What should you do first?"

Marcia tried to be as gentle, but Harry squealed and squirmed and wailed as she grabbed his flailing limbs and tried to push them into the jumpsuit. He was not in the mood to be touched, or perhaps he didn't like the idea of being dressed in a cold set of clothes.

Harry grabbed a handful of Marcia's ponytail and yanked. He screamed shrilly and whacked her with one tiny fist as tears flooded down his face. He knocked her glasses askew. Amidst his wiggling and wailing, Marcia managed to pull the jumpsuit on. After she zipped the front of it up, Marcia topped the outfit off with a tiny blue cap, and then collapsed at the side of the wagon, her glasses hanging crookedly off one ear. Harry stopped wailing and glared balefully at Ria as if to blame her for this atrocity. His nose dripped, and his face was red and splotchy.

Ria pressed the palm of her crippled hand against the side of her face. Her colorless lips were pressed in a thin line, but Marcia secretly suspected Ria was highly amused. "You do realize," Ria said slowly, "that you forgot the diaper."

Marcia's eyes widened. She tore her glasses off and jumped to her feet. "You mean I gotta dress Harry all over _again_!"

Ria's mouth twitched as she shook her head. "You may want to feed him first. It would put him into a better mood."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ria's and Marcia's opinions of women and families and babies are theirs and theirs alone and do not reflect those of the author. 


	2. Chapter Two: Process of Adoption

* * *

Feeding Harry _did_ put him in a better mood. Indeed, Harry loved the heated strained rice mixed with milk and honey so much that he fell asleep as soon as he had his fill. This enabled Marcia to remove his jumpsuit without another struggle. It took some fumbling and careful explaining on Ria's part to do what Marcia had always managed to avoid before - change a baby's diaper. With that finished, Marcia decided to indulge herself. 

Carefully, moving with an out-of-shape fighter's grace, she cuddled Harry.

"You won't spoil him," Ria warned her daughter as she looked over the rim of her teacup.

"Why not?"

Ria sniffed. "Because that's my duty as grandmother. Your duty is to discipline him afterwards."

Marcia scratched her head and tried to make heads and tails about that logic. "So, if he throws a fit or something, and I swat him because it's inappropriate behavior and I don't want it to become a habit, you'll give him a cookie to make him feel better?" Ria nodded her head. Marcia rubbed one ear as she thought about that. "Oh."

Nandin wandered in to the dining room, his nose raised in the air as he followed the scent of the milk and honey. He stopped in mid-step and stared with open-mouthed surprise at Marcia.

She regarded him with hostility. "What are you staring at?" she demanded defensively as her grip around Harry tightened. Harry snuffled in his sleep and wiggled about before stilling. He pressed his face against the crook of Marcia's arm.

"Nandin," said Ria from where she sat beside Marcia, "come meet the newest addition to the family."

Nandin closed his mouth and pursed his lips together. "Do I dare?" he asked as he looked distastefully at Harry.

"You'll like him." Ria gestured him close. "Do you not remember how you used to hold your younger brothers and sisters?"

Nandin walked over to Marcia. "Before or after they got too big to hold?"

Ria looked at him sharply. "When did you ever hold them before they became too big?"

Nandin looked more interested in examining Harry's fingers than answering his mother's question. Harry stirred again, moving his head from one side to the other. Nandin's eyes narrowed in interest; he pushed the tiny blue cap back, brushed Harry's wild black hair out of the way, and scrutinized the scar without touching it.

"What's that?" he asked as he pointed a clawed finger at it.

"No idea," Marcia replied. "It was glowing when his runes were still visible. 'm thinking of calling it a birthmark if anyone asks."

Nandin stood up. "I'm hungry," he said as he zeroed in on the two little containers that contained milk and honey.

Marcia watched her brother for a moment before she stood up, still cradling Harry close. "I better go look for Bumbledore," she said reluctantly. "I promised I would. I'll be back soon with Harry." Ria straightened her shoulders.

"Wait." She stood up. "I'll give you some Dores to take along." Marcia followed her mother as they left the dining room, again following the signs. The one time some mischievous Ice Elves switched the signs, a desperate search party had to be sent after Ria after she got lost. When she was found two days later, she declared tampering with the signs a crime of treason against the Throne. "From what I understand, you must formally adopt Harry to retain legal parental rights. Social workers, home visits, psychologists, character witnesses, paperwork galore. Quite a hassle."

At Ria's last words, Marcia had a vision of people bearing pads of paper and pencils being chased away by a sword-wielding Nandin. Ria, she knew, did not face such inquiries when she adopted Marcia and Nandin. It's hard to argue law with the person who is the ultimate legal authority and law-maker.

Ria reached her laboratory. It was a room in the far corner of the castle that was warm because of the small fire that burned in the stone chimney. Windows on three of the sides allowed light to stream in at all hours upon the tables that were covered with Ria's passion — plants. Some of the potted plants were small-growing flowers and herbs. Many, however, were tall and bushy, and were staked inside tubs that covered the tables. Various plants grew to the very ceiling and the room was filled with green leaves and bright blossoms. Ria weaved around the plants to the far front of the room, and they twisted as if following her with invisible eyes. Marcia, carefully shielding Harry, followed after her mother. She glanced carefully side-to-side because her last experience in this room had been a rather unpleasant one. (It involved one new specimen that had tried to eat Marcia. She managed to beat it off with a trough, but it insisted on leaping out of its pot and chasing her on its roots. Only by hiding behind Ria was the plant appeased, but Ria had suspected Marcia of "provoking" it, whatever that meant. Marcia thought the whole thing was a set-up anyway because the plant had been a "gift" from the Lord of Chaos. A curse by any other name…) Before the floor-to-ceiling windows was a desk much like the one in her Stateroom. Ria opened the top drawer and rummaged through its content for a moment before she withdrew four rubbery balls roughly the same size as her closed fist.

They jiggled with every movement as she also withdrew a small cloth bag. She dropped them inside the bag, and then handed it to Marcia. "You know how to tune them, so I won't do it for you." She sat down on a small stool and smiled up at Marcia. "Good luck, dear."

Marcia dropped the bag into her pocket amidst the bottle of milk and honey she was keeping for Harry when he woke up and became fussy with again and the bricks she still carried. "I'll be back," she promised before Jumping.

* * *

Marcia landed behind some tall bushes. Thick clouds of smoke, produced by the burning house, still filled the air. She carefully peered around the wilted green leaves of the bushes in time to see an old man, with long white hair and beard and wearing bright purple robes, disappear with a pop of sound. Many other robed people milled around the burnt remains of Harry's home. The fire that had decimated the house in so little a time had banked, but red-hot coals could be seen glowing in a few areas while heavy black smoke still billowed upward from other areas. 

People roamed the area, intent upon finding clues as to what happened. Three studied the house from afar, speaking to each other in quiet tones and making notes on their paper pads with pens that looked like just the quills Ria used to use before Marcia brought her an entire office supply box of ballpoint pens. James's body still lay where it had fallen, but it was covered with a white sheet as two people quietly argued over it. Several more people wandered over the ground on their hands and knees, examining the ground for any telltale sign.

Marcia glanced down at Harry, who was still asleep, and then back at the people. She tugged Harry's cap firmly down over his face and tucked him closely to her collarbone. The last thing she did was check to make sure her glasses were firmly in place.

She crept out of the bushes. She paused a moment to look for someone to speak to her, rather than down to her. She spotted a tall, gawky-looking man with thinning blond hair. He looked patient and feather-brained enough to answer questions.

Marcia sauntered over to him, trying to look very much as if she belonged at this crime scene. The man was examining the brick wall Marcia had kicked earlier. " 'Scuse me," she began when she reached his side. He ignored her as he picked up a broken brick piece and tried to match it with another broken brick piece. "Excuse me?" She prodded him in the lower back with one finger.

"Hmm?" He looked up. "Yes?" He stood up and looked down at her. "You really shouldn't be here at a murder scene. Where're your parents, little girl?"

Marcia wondered if she should kick him in the shin, and then decided that would only cement the man's impression. "Just wanted to ask a few questions." Marcia protruded her lower lip out in a pity-inspiring pout. "I won't be much of a problem, I promise. Told I had to find a man named Dumblebore."

"Dumbledore," the man corrected absently as he compared the bricks he held in his two hands.

"Yeah, him. I was told that I needed to speak to him." Marcia paused when she noticed the man's attention was focused on the bricks he was now turning over and over, squinting thoughtfully. She added a hint of desperation to her voice and plastered a look of helpless desperation on her face. "But I've never seen him before, and I don't know where to find him. It's a very, very important matter too!"

The man's interest finally shifted from the bricks to Marcia. His eyes lingered on Harry. Marcia tensed, but tried to appear as if she were only waiting for him to answer. "Ah, well, he was around here somewhere." The man scratched his head as he looked around. "He's got a very long white beard and white hair, wears a pair of half-moon glasses. Can't miss him really." He shrugged. "I guess he Disapparated back to Hogwarts. Why don't you have your parents contact him for you, eh?" He smiled condescendingly at her.

"Ah." Marcia decided not to ask what Disapparation was. She squinted over at the spot she had seen the old man with bright purple robes and long white hair and beard disappear. There was a slight tracing of his bright aura and something else. She supposed she could follow that to where he went. "Where's Hogwarts?" she asked.

The man went back to his bricks. "It's in Scotland."

"Oh." She quickly reviewed her grade school knowledge of Old Earth's geography. From the accents the local populace had, she supposed she was somewhere in a British-founded colony. Well, that wasn't too terribly long of a distance to follow after. At least it was all the same planet. "All right then. Thank you very much." She began to walk away, but stopped. "That reminds me." She stuck her free hand into her pocket and turned it inside out. Bricks dropped and hit the ground with solid thumps. She swiftly transferred Harry to the other arm so she could empty her other pocket. "Here you go!" she said cheerfully.

The man stared dumbly down at the bricks Marcia had liberated from her pockets, and then gaped as she blinked out of existence without the aid of magic.

* * *

Marcia had been adopted when she was seventeen years old, which was still quite young for a demonling. Between her third and thirteenth years, she had grown up on a planet whose entire civilization was made up of orphans and abandoned children. The facilities molded a stark, strict atmosphere meant to desensitize and dehumanize its residents. Shakti was a world that created heartless mercenaries - the best in the Universe. The leaders and instructors had tried their best, under Nandin Sydney's orders, to train Marcia in the same manner as other children were; they had tried to make her as ruthless and emotionless as Nandin Sydney himself. 

It didn't _quite_ work. In fact, it failed spectacularly.

At that early age, Marcia learned to avoid authority. With authority often came responsibility, so she learned to avoid that as well, because authority and responsibility meant fighting. Marcia was good at fighting, if only because demons and demonlings in general just naturally have that skill. It did not mean she enjoyed it, and sometimes a person has to fight to preserve their responsibility and honor, which would have been very bothersome had Marcia any responsibility or honor to claim.

Marcia was ambivalent about Shakti. It had been her home, a stable environment, and taught her many useful skills. But privacy was a thing unheard and she was always expected to prove herself better than the others because she was so unusual. Let someone else figure out if she could wash more dishes than an average human! Usually, she was able to hide in various nooks and crannies because there was no one small enough to go after her, but every once in a while she was caught and forced to do something along the lines of what that mercenary planet taught, such as leading suicidal missions or survival tact forces in the great Mud Swamps. Her first mission had ended in mutiny, where she was hung from a tree limb by her ankles and left to ponder where she had gone wrong.

She had no idea _why_ she was different (nor really cared, as long as they fed her like everyone else) until, with the accidental aide of a mini-nuclear explosion and a sposomolecular transporter device that split molecules and transported them at speeds over twenty-three trillion kilometers per second, she was sent rocketing through space and time. She went from 670021 AE (after Earth) in the Realm of Reality to 900 AD in Greer of the Realm of Chaos. She met Turk there, who not only taught her about demons and demonlings, but also became her foster father. (The Lord of Chaos said Marcia was a "gift" to Turk, because he liked Turk. Yeah.) With her system short-circuiting from the overload of power and computer programming from the transporter device, Marcia ricocheted back and forth between the two very different dimensions and times at the most inopportune moments. This, of course, greatly advanced her reputation as a dishonorable scoundrel, but did squat for covert operations.

It took a few demons to quite literally beat the idea of refocusing her demonic abilities into actually gaining control and utilizing the scientific mishap to her own advantage. This meant an even better way to avoid responsibility, which somehow — the details remained surprisingly fuzzy in her mind — led to an intergalactic war, overthrew the Empire's rulers who she was supposed to protect, killed millions of people, allowed a superior alien species to take over half of the Empire and thereby nearly wiped out mankind's known existence, _and_ caused the stock market to crash; it was all sort of something that she didn't _really_ want to remember. If it weren't for the fact that she literally rewrote history and obliterated her own existence at the same time, Marcia would have gone down in the books as being the greatest embarrassment Shakti ever produced.

The walls around Greer were deliberately set up to protect the rest of the Universe from demons. However, a few somehow slipped through. Those with human blood, such as Marcia, had the free right to enter any world where humans existed. Demons of the first class, rare and frightfully strong enough to cross over the barrier, often integrated themselves with humans. This allowed the demon gene to spread across the Universe.

Moving around in separate dimensions was an ability that needed special sight and speed. Due to the mutation of her DNA to configure the computer programming burned into her cerebral cortex, Marcia was able to transport herself at her own will. Her demonic abilities beyond even the logic of science were utilized to control the transport. In short, Marcia could go wherever she wanted to, even into someone's imagination.

But someone's imagination was rarely where Marcia wanted to be, since those creative enough not to have bland daydreams tended to be rather perverted. (Although she did admit, but only to herself and that was only when no one was around and when she was moody about her physique, it was nice that someone would fantasize big breasts on her. It was the only time in her life that she had anything that remotely qualified as cleavage without the aid of strategically stuffed socks _here_ and _there_.) Marcia preferred moving from one dimension to the next, because dimensions were infinite, and infinitely different, which is a lot more than what could be said for human imagination, no matter what other people said, like that weird guy with the really funny white hair that stood up in all sorts of directions. Something with relativity, that man…

Between separate dimensions was a space containing absolutely no matter. Moving through the dimension in the same manner as passing around them was more difficult. With just space between dimensions, movement between was fluid and unhindered. However, with nothing _but_ matter to move through, movement was slow, hindered, and difficult.

The trail of magic Dumbledore's Apparition left led Marcia through tight little pockets of space between matter. The mass of her body rippled and tried to rearrange itself to fit and match the space she slipped through, but she asserted her own nature over it and forced the mass to stay in shape. The one time Marcia had tried to rearrange her mass led to an embarrassing arrangement of body limbs that did not belong where they were relocated, as well as several extra limbs in places she never suspected of having.

She noticed how Harry's mass was protected by an inner glow of essence very similar to Dumbledore's. _Lucky duck, _she thought enviously to herself. When Marcia emerged from her Jump, her legs shook slightly as she waited for her balance to reassert itself. Harry was awake, his eyes wide and his mouth open as if he had fallen down and hurt himself and was unsure now whether he should scream bloody murder or not. He gasped and clutched Marcia's jumper.

"It's okay." Marcia patted his head and then decided it may not be a good idea to treat him like a puppy. She shifted him in her arms and then rubbed his back. "That wasn't too bad, now was it?" Harry looked uncertain. His eyes brimmed with tears as his lower lip trembled. Marcia snatched the bottle of milk and honey from her pocket. "Here," she said desperately as she pushed the nipple between Harry's lips.

Harry crossed his eyes to look at the bottle. He glanced at Marcia, but did not seem so inclined to burst into tears now. He grabbed the bottle with one hand and entwined the other hand in her hair.

With a grateful sigh, Marcia looked at her surroundings. She stood at the edge of a dark lake, its surface as smooth as glass. At the far end of it was a misshapen-shaped castle. It looked as if a chronically drunk contractor had built it with the help of half-blind workers. Of course, it could have been a style. Marcia was not an expert on fashion or architecture. The brighter and shinier it was, the more she liked it. This castle looked crooked and misconstrued to her, but it felt different. Odd. It felt immensely old, and yet timeless, and not quite of the Realm of Reality. Here was a part of the world that stood beyond the stream of time, unaffected by history or the whims of Fate, and was Fantasy.

Marcia waved one arm before herself. Her flesh tingled from the touch of an ancient power, dormant and sentient. There was no way to pinpoint if this was merely a feeling that lingered, or if it came from a single source somewhere near. It seemed fused to the land. It felt... protective. It was an ancient power so immense that it warped time and space around itself, remaining as steady and as strong as when it had first been anchored to this single area. Marcia had not realized there existed anything so magically powerful in the Realm of Reality.

Marcia made a mental note to always remain on her best behavior; this was not a power she wanted to upset.

She squinted and looked at the trail of essence Dumbledore left behind. It trailed over the lake, as if he had taken a boat across it, except it hung in the air. Marcia did not have a boat. It looked as if she were going to have to walk around the lake. "It's going to be a long walk," she said out loud. She shifted Harry to her other arm before the current one went numb, and started forward.

* * *

The castle loomed overheard. 

Marcia found she liked that word. Loomed. It was pretty and sounded immense enough to fit the castle. It had the sort of meaning that one could wrap their mind about and get lost in. _Loomed_; such a lovely mix of sound. She stopped walking and glanced far up at the turrets and towers overheard. Up close, she had to admit the castle was much less disjointed and much more impressive.

Many of the windows were filled with light. Some shadows blotted out the light as moving figures passed over the windows. Marcia looked over the castle walls. She glanced to the side at the large doors. She had no intention of entering a strange atmosphere through the front doors with Harry in her care.

"Hold on, sweetie," Marcia said cheerfully as she bent her knees. Harry gasped as she leapt up into the air onto the wall. She slid down the front of it before jamming the fingers of her free hand in a crack, and jerked to a rough halt. "Not so bad, don't cry," Marcia told Harry. He looked frightened as he clung to her and the bottle. "We're almost up to the top of this wall." Her feet slid and scraped against the wall as she sought a toehold. She found one and used it to push and propel her weight further up and over onto the top of the wall. It was as wide as the length of her forearm. She looked over at the darkened courtyard on the other side. The trail of essence she followed now mixed into other essences.

"Odd." She lifted her glasses up and squinted at the flow of essences. It permeated from the very wall she stood on. It looked similar to Ria's presence, which was fused into Winter's Ambit. However, Ria's presence was singular. These essences were made up of thousands of different presences, some as old as Marcia felt the castle to be. They lingered on, wrapping themselves in the ancient presence Marcia had felt earlier.

Standing out amidst the other essences was Dumbledore's. It was the brightest of all, and seemed to be the focal point of the other essences. They eagerly clung to his own just as the ancient power folded itself around all.

Marcia dropped her glasses back onto her nose, bent her knees to leap from the wall as she tightened her grip around Harry, and glanced around. She froze as a single person passed through a window in the tallest of the castle's towers. There was no mistaking that figure. That was Dumbledore's; she easily matched it with the shape of the figure from James' burnt home. If she could climb to the window, she wouldn't have to wander the halls of the castle.

Marcia sprinted down the length of the wall to the wall to the tower it encircled around. She skidded to a halt, and slid down the wall's length a little before coming to a stop. Harry giggled and waved his bottle around.

She studied the tower closely. There were various poles that stuck out of the stone walls, like circling steps around the tower's round girth. The pole directly beneath the window she had seen Dumbledore's figure had a red flag with a gold lion emblazoned over it. It was at half-mast. Marcia looked around for other flags. Most of the poles were bare, but those that flew flags had the gold lion across the red background; all flew at half-mast.

Marcia sat down on the wall. She set Harry on the stone. He looked puzzled at not being held anymore, and gave her an accusing look. "It's a long way up there," she told him. "I want to keep you safe." She took the top half of her jumper off where she wore an undershirt beneath. She knotted the collar closed so she could the jumper as a sling, and then dropped Harry inside. She lifted Harry to her back, and securely knotted the jumper's arms around her waist.

Harry gasped as she stood up. He dropped his bottle and gripped her undershirt tightly. Marcia picked the bottle up and tucked into her pocket, hefted Harry further up her torso, and then looked the wall over. She mentally measured the distance between the wall and the tower, and then the distance between the wall and the nearest flagpole. Harry whimpered as the makeshift sling he was in slipped down low over her hips. She tugged it up. It slid down again.

"This isn't going to work," she told Harry. She wiggled about and tugged the sling around. She finally slung the knotted sleeves over her head and around her neck where the knot dug uncomfortably into her shoulder. Harry whimpered again as he grasped the front of her undershirt. "It's okay," she said, trying to sound as motherly and comforting as she could. She patted him on the head to help further the image. Harry sniffed and gave her a dirty look. Well; the patting-on-the-head always worked for Ria whenever she did it (except, now what Marcia thought of it, Ria also usually slipped the child a chip of rock candy).

"Hold on." She pressed her hand against Harry to pin him firmly against her torso, and leapt upward through the air. She landed lightly on the pole, her knees bending to absorb impact, and grabbed the pole with her free hand before she slipped backwards. "There, that's not so bad," she told Harry as he curiously peered over her shoulder at the ground below. Marcia up righted herself on the pole, and edged over to the wall. She pressed her hands flat against the stones and ran them across the surface.

There were spaces between the stones where the mortar had worn away. Marcia used them as finger and toeholds and nimbly scaled the wall upward to the single pole from which the red and gold flag flew. From there, she leapt from pole to pole, each bending beneath her weight and snapping upright with a barely-audible twang.

She paused momentarily on one of the flagless poles to readjust Harry in his sling, and found herself freely swinging her feet from where she sat to stare out over the landscape; it was a grand view of her surroundings. It was always good to know where a person was; you never knew if you needed a hiding spot, and it's easier to spot hiding places when one is above the ground. There was a flat field that stretched out before her, surrounded by bleachers. At each end of the field, tall poles jutted from the ground with wide hoops on the top of the poles.

Beyond the flat field was a forest. It brimmed with an unknown source of power, dark and dangerous, and it felt infinitely older than the ancient presence that protected the castle. It harbored its own protection, a mysterious and twisted aura that hinted of an endless darkness. Something sinister seemed to rise upward out of the forest, towering far overhead with the peak of it fading into the skies overheard. She squinted at the building, and it wavered before her demon-vision before fading away. She stared, mesmerized by the feelings the forest radiated.

It waited for something. It watched, with many closed eyes, for the something to come or occur. It was primal and ancient, but there was a black familiarity to it that caused the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. There was power that lay dormant in the forest, and with the proper amount of Chaos, it would awaken and strike like a threatened snake —

Marcia abruptly tore herself from the feeling. It was dangerous to become mesmerized by Chaos; as its creature, she could easily be influenced by it, and she hadn't time to cause trouble. She jumped to her feet and continued her climb to the top window. Another shadow, tall and thin, passed over the window as Marcia jumped from the wall to the pole with the flag. She grabbed the pole with one hand and the flag's rope with another.

"But, Albus!" a woman cried out from the window above as she started to swing her feet upward. Marcia froze as the woman continued. "How can You-Know-Who be dead?"

A different voice muttered something in reply, too low for Marcia to distinguish gender or words.

"Then what happened to Harry? If Lily's body was found in the house, and James's body outside, where is Harry? How can we be_sure_ You-Know-Who is dead?"

Marcia swung her feet up, wrapped them firmly around the pole, and twisted until she hung from it with both hands and legs locked firmly around its thin girth. Harry giggled and reached out to grab the pole. His arms were too short to reach. He pouted as Marcia climbed hand over hand toward the window.

"... residual power," said a deep, knowing voice, "was beyond anything I had ever seen before. The investigators took samples and said it would appear Voldemort blew up. His magic was splayed over the countryside, as if his being was ripped apart by some force beyond this world, and the fire was apparently caused by foreign source of magic which I couldn't recognize."

Again there was a soft voice. She froze as someone passed the window.

"The fire was undeniably produced by magic," the knowing voice said, "but its signature is inhuman. While it is certainly not dark, it is foreign and other-worldly."

Marcia swung around on the pole. She studied the window for a moment before working her fingers beneath the glass and carefully prying it open a crack.

"It is possible this fire happened when You-Know-Who was killed?" the woman asked again.

"The investigators believe so. But whether _it_ killed Voldemort or not is still unknown, although _something_ happened. It has been confirmed James was killed by the Curse and, although they were still unsure of her fate, they believe Lily was dead before being the fire reached her body."

Marcia swung the glass window open and peered over the sill. The odd mixtures of scents that drifted through the window floated over her head and tickled her sense of smell. There were scents of Order (sunshine and lilies), Chaos (brimstone and sulfur), confusion (rancid milk), and fear (rancid meat). She snuffed and rubbed her nose as the three people within the room froze and stared at her with a mixture of surprise (the old man with the long white beard and hair, a stern-looking woman whose face was heavily lined with distress and grief) and hostility (the tall, very dark young man who sat on a bed with his shoulders hunched forward and his lips pressed together with apprehension).

"It was Harry," Marcia said, unsure if this could be considered a rude interruption. "Er. Well, _this_ is awkward, isn't it?" The stern-looking woman drew back a step. She looked at Dumbledore, as if seeking guidance. Marcia pulled herself over the window ledge and sat down on it. Harry kicked inside his sling and squealed with delight when he saw Dumbledore.

Dumbledore took a surprised step forward and then stopped. He looked confused and wary as he slowly withdrew a stick from one of his pockets. Marcia's grip tightened around Harry.

"He's in my care," Marcia said. The surprise was quickly turning to the same hostility the young, dark man was now glaring at her. She briefly wondered if she should have brought Nandin along for protection, or at least to draw the line of attack away.

"And how did you come across James Potter so he could give you Harry?" the stern woman demanded as she withdrew her own stick.

"Um." Marcia tensed nervously. She did not want to fight. She glanced quickly over her shoulder to how far a fall it was if she had to leap out the window. It was frightfully high up, now that she realized it. "After he died. He was waiting for Dumbledore or someone to come along and help Harry." They looked at the mentioned baby. Harry seemed content to look around at his surroundings from where he was nestled in Marcia's arms. "Harry's a demonling," Marcia said in explanation as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She planted the flat of one foot against the wall to easily and immediately propel her weight in a different direction if need be. "He's a rune demonling so he's not human."

Dumbledore petted his beard in thought. "Demonling?"

"Half-demon."

"How is that possible when both his parents were human?"

"All genetics," Marcia replied. "Ten or twenty generations back, a rune demon would have integrated into Harry's family, and the demon gene would skip entire generations before settling in a single person. An extreme situation, which is usually life-threatening, will cause the demonic blood to manifest itself. Sometimes you can pass through life without having undergoing an extreme situation, so the demon gene never manifests itself. For rune demonlings, it's not so much as you are _born_ a demon, but that you _become_ a demon. Since the situation demanded the demonic power, Harry manifested it, and now the power is Harry and Harry is the power, and his cells mutated to put up with it." Marcia took a deep breath. "Not sure what happened, but from what his father told me, Harry became a demonling to protect himself." She looked from person to person. "Told him that Harry was strong, and that if he doesn't learn how to control his powers while he's still young, it could get very bad." Pat it up a little, make herself look good – first impressions are always the lasting impressions, Marcia knew.

Dumbledore looked fascinated. "How is Harry different as a demon? What are his powers?"

"He's a rune demonling. Rune demons are elemental creatures. He can produce fire, control fire, and use it to destroy or create but mostly destroy." Marcia scratched her head and wondered how much she could tell before the science went over their heads. "Physically, as a demon, he's going to be stronger, faster, and more agile than humans. His metabolism would be through the roof." Harry kicked and whined. She released him from the sling and set him on the floor. He sat still and looked at the edge of the square of lush carpet that lay in the middle of the room, then grabbed one of the tassels and played with it. "His father said Harry's my son now," Marcia added.

The dark man jumped to his feet. "WHAT?!"

In a flash, Marcia yanked Harry up and dashed through the window onto the end of the pole. "He's too powerful to neglect learning how to control his powers!" she yelled defensively from where she stood balanced on one foot, the pole rocking up and down from her weight and its flag fluttering. Harry wailed in protest and fright.

Dumbledore held his arms up, stilling the stern woman and the dark man's movement. He waved to Marcia. "Come back," he said. "We shan't attack you."

Marcia reluctantly entered the room again. She gave Harry his bottle to sooth his fussiness. Harry whimpered as he fingered the bottle's nipple and looked at her.

Dumbledore folded his hands before himself. He carefully pointed the stick off to the side. "This is all very confusing," he said solemnly. "Perhaps a bit of information is needed, but we should start with introductions. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore." He smiled at her pleasantly to assure his friendliness. "This lovely lady," he nodded at the stern woman, "is Professor Minerva McGonagall. This young man is Severus Snape. Harry Potter is the son of James and Lily Potter who were students once, colleagues after, and friends always."

Marcia nodded her head at each person and silently kept her opinions to herself. McGonagall was certainly not someone she would call lovely, and from the curled sneer Snape gave at the mention of "friends always," she had a feeling that wasn't the most accurate selection of words. McGonagall glared at her sourly, and the dark young man continued to train his stick on Marcia. _Those must be the wands I was told about_, she thought. They were obvious very powerful weapons for these people to depend upon so much.

"For the past several years," Dumbledore continued, "we of the wizarding world have been battling an evil dark lord named Voldemort." McGonagall winced at the name. "A few hours ago, we received word here from Severus that Voldemort meant to attack and kill James and Lily. Before we could launch a counterattack, Voldemort had carried out his plan, and was seemingly done away by an unknown source of power-"

"Harry's fire," Marcia put in. Harry began to fuss again, so she set him on the floor. She watched as he discarded the bottle and crawled over to Dumbledore.

The others stared at Harry in surprise. "Harry?" McGonagall asked. "It was _Harry_ who killed You-Know-Who?"

Marcia shrugged and wondered why this Voodemort guy was always referred to as "You-Know-Who." " 's what James told me; something about a curse bumping off Harry, who produced his fire in an explosion. It was a pretty big explosion," she said helpfully. "I felt it, so I decided to investigate since demons aren't allowed in the Realm of Reality - well, in most cases, at least, yours truly withstanding."

Dumbledore's expression was curiously cheerful. McGonagall continued to stare at Harry in surprise as he grabbed Dumbledore's robes and yanked them. "Up!" he cried. Snape continued to scowl at Marcia in a way that made her feel smaller than what she actually was, and she immediately felt a wave of intense dislike. Dumbledore bent over and picked Harry up. Harry giggled as he played with the man's fluffy white beard.

"I'm supposed to have him," Marcia said again as she watched Harry. She had a feeling she was going to lose him and was trying not to panic. " 'cause he's a demonling."

"But he has magic," McGonagall replied firmly. "There was no doubting that he has been a wizard from the moment he was born. He needs to be placed with a good family."

Marcia jumped from foot to foot. "James said _I_ could have him!"

The woman looked down her nose at Marcia, silently scolding her behavior with her dark eyes. Marcia, chagrined, stopped bouncing. "Why should he be under _your_ care?"

"James gave him to _me_!"

"And did James give you permission to treat Harry like an object to be owned by anyone, rather than as a human?"

Chastised, Marcia became still.

"We," said Snape, "only have your word for it. _You_ are little more than a child. If Harry did kill Voldemort, then he's one of the most powerful wizards alive! He has to be trained suitably!"

"What about his demonic power?" Marcia demanded hotly. She pointed a single finger in their direction. "If _his_ fire was strong enough to rock an entire dimension, he needs to learn how to control it before it peaks. Male demons get stronger as they age, and the strength and power peak after they enter rut. If they can't control their power or strength, they won't control their rut!" She stopped a moment to reign in her panic and anger. Her mind swiftly ran through various options before she settled on explaining why it was a bad thing for untrained demons to run amuck. Finally, she settled on her usual subject — Nandin.

"I have a younger brother. Now, as younger brothers go - and I've got six to compare - he's all right. But Nandin's got a short temper - and it's possible that Harry'll have a short temper too, because he's a fire demon and some demonic personalities are linked to their elements. When the scientists studying Nandin pushed him too far, he went into a rage. Demons tend to be animalistic. The more control over the power though, the less damage done. When you lose your temper, you descend into that animalistic mindset and the results are devastating. Nandin slaughtered the scientists and _he_ hadn't even entered his rut. Harry blew up Voodemort, and he's _only_ a baby.

"He may be a powerful wizard, but he's also a powerful demon. That's where he's different. If he doesn't learn how to control his power, or why he's different, then he'll do what Nandin did — kill someone. Well," she amended quickly, "again, actually. And what's more, he could be hunted down just as Nandin was. _If_ Harry gets through his first thirty years of life without killing anyone, he's going to be unprepared for his rut."

They looked at her with blank expressions, so Marcia plowed on with her explanation.

"If he can't control what he already has, it's going to be the Voldemort thingy all over again. And not knowing that he's in rut, he's going to be susceptible to any female that's fertile." Marcia scratched her head. "Well," she said, "he's like that even when he knows that he's in rut. But have you ever seen a demon in rut?" The others gave her looks of mixed horror and disbelief. "Forget I asked that question," she muttered. "Harry'll consider any male to be competition, and competition will be ruthlessly slaughtered. If Harry tries to, um, er," Marcia tried to think of a polite way to say "have sex," since it wasn't something she often said in front of old people, "mate with a suitable female, his strength may be too great for her to handle and she'll die. What if the female isn't willing to be with him? He'd be strong enough to do what he wants, so he'd take it, and _that'd_ be rape."

She held up three fingers and finally cemented her argument. "So there's rape, murder, and mayhem all together right there. James said that _I_ could Harry him so I can train him against that happening." She sent Harry a longing look without realizing it. "James said he wouldn't have given me Harry if he didn't think I'd be a good mother."

McGonagall stepped back in shock as Dumbledore looked up from Harry at Marcia. Though his eyes were a piercing blue, the shrewdness reminded Marcia uncomfortably of her great-grandfather, and she found herself squirming uneasily beneath his gaze.

"We can't let her have him," said Snape as he stepped to Dumbledore's side. "We only have her word for this. We don't know her name, much less anything else." Marcia's face turned red when she realized he was correct. She opened her mouth to introduce herself, but the cold glare Snape sent her effectively shut her up. "If Harry did defeat Voldemort, then he's our savior." He looked at Harry in dawning surprise and whispered, "A tiny babe is greater than the darkest wizard of our time."

Dumbledore suddenly pushed Harry's little blue cap back and studied the lightening-shaped mark on his forehead. "But what if she's correct?" Dumbledore asked as he traced the outline. Harry turned his head so Dumbledore couldn't touch it. He wriggled about and pressed his hands against his forehead, trying to cover the scar. "Where did this come from?" Dumbledore asked as he looked up.

Marcia shrugged. "Beats me. Was glowing along with his runes, but that one didn't fade when the others did. I'm going to call it a birthmark."

"What if she's wrong?" Snape pointed a long finger at Marcia. "Look at her!" Marcia glanced down the length of her own body. "How can she defend Harry from Death Eaters? Biting them in the knee?"

"Hey!" Marcia's face turned red.

"What if this isn't Harry, but rather a poor substitute meant to fool us? How can we believe a word she has said, when nothing of anything we know even verifies in the least what she has said?"

Marcia reflected bitterly on what would happen if she bit _him _in the knee. Dumbledore set Harry on the floor. Harry glanced at the adults before crawling over to Marcia. Snape swooped down and grabbed him before Marcia could hurry over and pick him up. "We don't know where she's from, or what she is." He glared at her with black eyes that reflected a deep distrust. Harry began to wiggle. When Snape's grip tightened, Harry let loose a shriek that rattled the glass.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"I am not a child!" Marcia stopped yelling when she realized that she did look like a child when she yelled. "I'm a little crow demonling," she muttered resentfully. She wrung her hands as she watched Harry wail. "I can too protect him, and 'm not a child. You're making him scared. Give him to me."

"How old are you?" McGonagall asked.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Marcia wondered how they would react to her giving them negative numbers. She settled on shrugging instead. "I'll have to ask my mother."

"Why?"

" 'cause I was seventeen when I was adopted in my parents' second anniversary. I keep track of my birthday when Mama keeps track of her wedding anniversaries."

"Don't you even know how long your parents have been married?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"Mama was feeling old, so she decided to celebrate every ten years. I missed the last few because of, um," she bit her lip and squirmed some more, "some stuff."

Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses as Marcia. " 'Some stuff.' Trouble?"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Marcia tried to stop squirming in guilt, not wanting to recall how _that_ had happened. "The Beast," she muttered, refusing to meet any eyes. "Wasn't my fault. Was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and _He_ took it out on me." _It was all Patches' fault,_ she thought resentfully. _If she hadn't been the one who left the Eternal Phoenix stranded in downtown Los Vegas... And that Elvis guy, too! All three of them!_

"And who is the Beast?"

"Shhshshsh." Marcia glanced around at the dark shadows. "Not good to call _Him_ when emotions are unstable. He's Bad. He's Evil. And He's Powerful." Harry stopped wailing, his face red and blotchy. His bright green eyes darted tearfully around before they settled upon Marcia.

"Mmmm." He reached a hand out to her. When she did not move, Harry smacked Snape with a chubby fist. "Bah!" he cried.

"What does he do?"

"_He_." Marcia hunched her shoulders. "He's the Source of All Chaos."

"Who?" Now Dumbledore just looked puzzled. That was how she felt when everyone discussed What's-His-Name. Marcia could not stop a chill from racing up and down her spine as she looked over her shoulder at the forest beyond. It seemed to lurk in the background, growing more aware as she spoke of the Beast. "Is he a demon?"

Marcia shook her head. She wanted to grab Harry and flee for the safety of Winter's Ambit. _He_ dared not to come to her mother's kingdom, not while Ria ruled. Or maybe not, but He wouldn't block Marcia's ability to hop dimensions, and then drop her for the next several decades in a world of cannibalistic munchkins and peace-loving vegetarian chickens, as He did last time. It had been hell trying to survive with her legs intact. "Don't say anything." Her eyes darted nervously around in the room. Snape snorted with disdain. Harry whimpered.

"Do you want someone like her, with such an obviously sordid past, to raise Harry? This Beast does not sound like a friendly person, and the little girl is frightened of him." Harry let loose another wail and Snape grabbed Dumbledore's upper arm tightly. "Please," Snape hissed desperately, "do we need someone or some_thing_ like You-Know-Who in our lives again?" McGonagall pinched her lips together in a thin line and nodded her head in agreement.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Marcia bristled with resentful anger. "Promised James I'd take care of Harry." She centered her weight on the back foot still braced against the wall, the other foot flat on the floor before her. "You'll not make me a liar!"

"There's too many unknown variables—" Snaps' hand was still tightly clamped around Dumbledore's upper arm. Marcia shifted her weight to her front foot and propelled herself forward. She moved through space in the same manner as she had come to Hogwarts. Before Snape realized it, Harry was snatched from his hands and Marcia jumped through the air, twisting, turning, until she hit the ceiling feet-first. Her left arm was wrapped firmly around Harry's waist as he tearfully clung to her, too startled to wail, and the fingers of her right hand gripped the cracks in the stone ceiling. The muscles screamed in protest; an immediate sharp, burning pain shot through her arm and down her spine before settling in her hips, but she ignored it in favor of the looks of surprise Snape and McGonagall gave her.

"James said I had to let Dumbledore know, 'cause Harry might still be a wizard and he'd like him to attend school here. Told just as I was supposed to." She paused to gather her thoughts together. Harry whimpered again and pressed his face against her chest. Snape and McGonagall again trained their wands on her as Dumbledore solemnly studied her, weighing the situation in his mind and calculating her abilities_. Stay on his good side—!_ "I didn't have to come back here. Didn't have to let Harry know anything about his past here, maybe even remaining family—wait, does Harry have other family?" That had never occurred to Marcia before, despite Ria mentioning it. She supposed that, legally, Harry's blood relatives had first dibs to Harry.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Only on his mother's side, and I find I am reluctant to leave Harry with Muggles. Not if he's a demon as you say he is." Marcia decided not to ask about Muggles. "If Harry is so powerful, and if he did kill Voldemort, then he is the savior of the wizarding world." He looked at Snape, who continued to train his eyes and wand on Marcia. "I'm afraid he would become rather spoiled if he were raised by most other wizards. We can't afford such a powerful being to be selfish or shallow."

"Mama said I couldn't spoil Harry. Said that was _her_ right as grandmother."

Snape rolled his eyes. "She _would_ still be suckling her mother," he muttered darkly.

"Hey!" Marcia felt the muscles in her legs cramp. "One more barb and I'll throw you out the window!" He sneered at that. Marcia gathered her bits of patience close, and addressed Dumbledore as calmly as she could; somehow, she still managed to sound petulant. "I'm _trying_ to keep Harry's avenues open for him."

"Adoption is possible," said Dumbledore. McGonagall looked aghast.

"Albus! You can't possibly leave Harry with this child!"

"I am _not_ a child!"

McGonagall corrected herself fluidly. "This being!"

"Human or not, she seems capable to me. I knew of very few who could hang from the ceiling like that."

Marcia could see why; her fingers and arm were already starting to become painfully numb.

Snape snorted. He looked down the length of his nose as he looked up at Marcia. That had to take a good bit of talent to carry off. The nose, Marcia noticed, was very large. No wonder Harry wailed. She would wail too if someone like him held her. "How do we not know if she wants Harry's power for herself? How do we know that Harry truly destroyed Voldemort?" He drew his lip back in a sneer. "_This_ child seems to view Harry as little more than a _pet_."

Marcia released her hold from the ceiling, dropped through the air, and landed with a thump. She darted forward between Snape's legs. He lost his balance and fell forward, but as his feet came off the ground, she grabbed an ankle and viciously yanked him toward the window. He cracked his head soundly against the windowsill as she pulled him outside. Before anyone could react, Marcia suspended herself from the flagpole, both legs hooked around its girth, while she hugged Harry close and hung Snape upside down by his ankle. " 'm not a child!" she yelled. "And I don't lie!" Well, usually. At least, not about the big things like this." (Okay, so maybe there were some big things too, but she wasn't lying _this_ time around. Just some creative paraphrasing…)

Dumbledore and McGonagall hurried to the window. Dazed from the hard knock to the head, Snape merely shook his head to clear it and did not reply.

"Young lady." Dumbledore's voice held a sharp note. Marcia glared resentfully at him.

" 'm not a child!" she snapped.

He sighed. For a moment, he looked immensely old. "There are avenues you will have to pursue were you to legally adopt Harry as your son."

"I'll do it! I'll do it!"

"Why," said Snape, his voice bitter and the tone laced with misery, from below, "do you even _care_?"

"James gave him to _me_."

"He's not a toy or an animated object for you to play with!" Snape craned his neck to look up at Marcia. There was pain in his black eyes as he snarled up at her. "He's not something for you to claim ownership!"

"And I never said he was or I was," Marcia snapped back with a shake of her arm. "James was a stranger when I came. He trusted me. He had faith in me, even though he didn't know about what I was or what I've done. My own mother thought he made a mistake. But he didn't." Her arm tightened protectively around Harry. "No one thought I'd make a suitable mother, but 'cause he, a ghost of a stranger waiting for someone to come along for his son, thought I could, then I _will_ be."

Snape regarded her with his black eyes. The pain was still there, but emotions in them were indescribable. "Why do you think you would be a good mother for him?" he asked softly. "Why are you going to help a baby whom you would not care for if you passed him on the street? He's just a stranger."

Marcia regarded him closely. Was that sorrow she detected? She sniffed, searching for the tall-tale bitter scent of misery. What she found was blood and darkness, heavily bathed in Chaos. So _he_ was the source. She drew her lip back at the scent. "What is the difference between my loving a child someone gives to me, than from a different family adopting an orphan from some country on the other side of the galaxy, whose own father never begged that family to care for the child? Or a mother who gives birth? Doesn't know the child, but she still loves it."

The muscles in her arm ached from Snape's weight, but at least it was no longer numb. It had been far too long since the last time she had forced her body to do heavy physical labor. The scars across her back pulled uncomfortably across the muscles the grid had been cut into; weight and power moves were hardly Marcia's forte, and the only reason why she was strong enough to hold onto a full-grown man one-handed was because of her base strength. Turk would frown and put her to work if he learned how far Marcia had allowed her training to slip.

But pain still lingered in Snape's dark eyes, and the echo of it sent a different twinge through the muscles in her back. "Hey," she said slowly, "I know what it is like to try and cope with being different, never succeeding, never gaining control. I know I'm little, and that's something I can't change — even with time. I know that people think I'm a child, but I can be a good mother. A stranger trusted me with the single most precious treasure in his life, which is more than my family ever does. And I'll admit that their distrust is not all unwarranted, but I _can_ be a good mother if given a chance, and since a stranger saw fit to do so, I would be a disappointment — to both myself and that person — if I let my past say otherwise. He _trusted_ me, and most people don't do that. And for that trust, and for Harry, I'll fight tooth and nail."

Snape's eyes closed and he let his head tip backwards. Marcia narrowed her eyes. "And that includes dropping you on your head."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "A question: Should you adopt Harry and raise him, would you allow him to come to Hogwarts? This is a school for witchcraft and wizardry. His parents and generations of his father's family have all came here to learn. Would you let him know about his past? Would you let him become a wizard, and know about his own kind as a wizard?"

Joy tickled somewhere in Marcia's chest when she realized Dumbledore was giving her a chance to keep Harry. "Yes! Yes yes yes! Attending the school would be Harry's heritage, and who'm I to come between Harry and his heritage?"

Snape snorted and muttered something. Marcia thought she heard her name, as well as midget and troll. She shook him firmly. "You be quiet, you grease ball you," she told him mildly. "Happen to be the only reason why you aren't going to fall over twenty stories onto your head." As an afterthought, she added, "And if you don't stop making fun of my diminutive stature, I'll feed you to my aunt Elizabeth's mutated cabbages, and I do mean that."

She looked over at Dumbledore, who looked as if he were having a difficult time trying to decide whether he should be amused or upset. "My family calls me Sydney Geneve. I'm _supposed_ to be Marcia Runes." She glared down at Snape. "And _you_ can call _me_ Ma'am."

"Would you mind bringing him in?" Dumbledore asked as amusement won. "You are giving Harry a bad example for obeying authority and respecting adults."

Marcia made another mental note to tell her family to lie through its teeth when people asked them of her nature. "Course I'll raise Harry to respect adults." Snape snickered. She glared at him again. "You sure I can't drop Snape here on his head? A bump on his head might do him a bit of good."

* * *

It took some clever maneuvering on Marcia's part to bring herself, Harry, and Snape back into the room again from where she hung from the pole. Marcia personally thought it would have been easier all around if she just dropped Snape, especially when he began to make snarky comments on how she was looking up his trousers. "Frankly, you don't got nothing I'm interested in," Marcia finally snapped. 

One eyebrow went up at that. "Is there something you should warn us about?"

Marcia didn't know what he was talking about, so she ignored that. However, McGonagall was looking at her strangely when they finally reached the windowsill.

"Now," Dumbledore moved to sit down on the chair next to the bed. "Would you mind telling me everything about your meeting with James?"

Marcia sat Harry on the floor, making sure he was well beyond the reach of McGonagall and Snape. Harry, for his part, yawned sleepily and curled up on the soft rug to take a nap. Marcia sat down beside him and told the others everything from the moment the blast of power rocked her, to James' fading away. When Dumbledore asked her about her mother, Marcia explained that she went to her for help because Harry was fussing. She tried to avoid the matter of Ria being Queen of Winter as best as she possibly could, since that would cause questions she didn't have the energy to answer.

When she finished, Dumbledore was silent as he gazed at Harry. McGonagall looked uncertain. Snape had magicked up some ice he currently pressed to the back of his head as he sat on the edge of the bed, bent half-way over. "Do you think it wise?" McGonagall asked softly.

Dumbledore stirred. "I think it wiser for Harry to go with someone who is willing to keep ties with the wizarding world _and_ train him to control such a power."

Marcia nodded her head, hoping that doing so could help placate McGonagall.

"I want to see where Harry is going to be raised," McGonagall said finally. "I want to know who the people who are going to get involved are." She gave Dumbledore a hard look. "You wouldn't allow him to be raised in an atmosphere of dysfunctional relatives with warped family values, would you?"

Marcia tried not to squirm and looked guilty as she recalled her various relatives. "We don't have warped family values," she said. Except for the one on how there was no problem too small that killing a few key people or blowing up a few key buildings couldn't solve. They ignored her, which was just as well.

"Social workers would have to inspect where she lives and research her past in order to approve adoption," said Snape. He looked at Marcia. "You may very well make a good mother for young Harry here, but you aren't from this world. How do we get to your world? How do we know you won't lock yourself in that world and never let Harry come back? We know this child, and knew his parents." His expression twisted and he glared sourly at Harry. Dumbledore looked at Snape carefully, as if waiting for him to continue, but Snape just shook his head and pressed the ice once more to it. "I find myself agreeing with Professor McGonagall. I want to see where Harry is going to be raised and who are the people going to be involved."

Dumbledore leaned forward. There was a shrewd light in his eyes. "Miss Runes." Marcia turned to him attentively. "No matter how much you want to keep Harry, the Ministry may not agree. You would have a better chance of keeping him if we supported you and were involved in Harry's adoption. Your chances would further increase if we continued to be involved with his being raised."

"When you say," said Marcia warily, "my chances would increase if some of you were involved, you mean yourself personally, right?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It would be best."

"Ah." Well, it did take a village to raise a child. She wondered if it were too late to run now that the three wizards knew so much. "My mother said all of that too. She gave me some Dores." She dug around in her pockets for one of them. "I guess you can talk to her about Winter's Ambit. She knows a lot more about adoption than I do." She tossed it against the flat surface of the bedroom wall.

The Dore hit it with a wet splotching noise and broke apart into many droplets that clung to the wall and leaked a blue color. The colors ran together and flowed upward, until a rounded door was created.

"You just step through this," Marcia said. "Follow me." She picked Harry up off the floor. He mewed in protest about being disturbed before he buried his face in the crook of her neck and went back to sleep. Marcia stepped through the blue door into the white hallways of the Great Northern Kingdom. She scuttled to the side so no one stepped on her when they came through.

Dumbledore was the first to arrive. He looked around himself in wonder at the walls and floors of ice. McGonagall followed soon after. Her surprised was marred by the pinched glare of suspicion at her surroundings. Snape was the only one who did not seem surprised. His shoulders hunched forward as he concentrated his gaze mostly upon Marcia. She tried to ignore him as she wordlessly led them to the Queen's Quarters. She was fairly sure Ria had gone back to her taxes when Marcia had left.

Marcia led them through various twisting halls and rooms, until she reached Ria's Stateroom. She opened the door a crack and peered through it to see a splash of red against the dark brown of Ria's work desk. Marcia pushed the door open fully and stepped through it. She waited for the wizards and witch to near her before she walked over to the desk. Ria looked up from her writing, set her pen to the side and crossed her hands over the desk top, waiting.

Marcia stopped beside the desk. Harry stirred, and then went back to sleep again. Marcia looked from her mother to Dumbledore in confusion, trying to recall cortex protocol for introduction. She was told it once before, a very long time ago, but she never before cared for ranking, so the protocol slipped her mind more often than not.

Ria's expression was as flat as her voice when she spoke. "You've forgotten." She buried her face in her hands. "Must I send you back to charm school?"

Marcia shuddered as she recalled the miles and miles of lace she had been forced to sew. She hadn't seen the point since she thought most lace patterns were particularly ugly, and so opted out of wearing any. She thought she did well enough without being charming. If being annoying didn't get her what she wanted, a quick poke with a sharp blade readily worked (provided, of course, she knew she wasn't going to get poked back).

Now, Marcia couldn't remember the protocol for which hand to use while indicating the person who was introduced first, based upon the location and the current context of the environment, the time of day, and the custom of the involved people in the introduction. She decided to play it first and introduce by age. Dumbledore looked old, but he was human and so couldn't be older than ninety.

She turned to her visitors. "Everyone, this is my mother." She held her hand out to Ria. "Ria Runesking." She switched hands to indicate her visitors as she turned to her mother. "Mama, this is Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and, um, Mister Snape." Ria stood up from behind her desk and nodded to each of the visitors in return. "Mama," began Marcia, "they're here to talk about adopting Harry through their laws."

"Ah." Ria gestured to the seats that leaned against the wall. "Please, do sit down. May I offer refreshments, such as wine or perhaps some buns? The kitchen has prepared a batch of lovely hot-cross buns very recently. They should still be warm from the stoves."

Dumbledore nodded cheerfully as he grabbed a chair and pulled it across the floor to Ria's desk. He sat down in it. "Do these hot-cross buns come with a glass of warm milk?" There was a curious light in his eye as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.

"I cannot guarantee the milk would be warm." Ria looked expectedly at McGonagall and Snape.

McGonagall moved to stand at Dumbledore's side. She pinched her lips together and shivered. "Wine may do well to chase the cold away," she said as she rubbed her two hands. Snape looked bored as he moved and grabbed one of the other chairs. He pulled it to the other side of Dumbledore.

"I have down comforters for visitors unused to the cold." Ria's voice held a hint of amusement. She turned to Marcia and held her hands out. Marcia, after only a moment of hesitation, silently handed Harry to Ria. Harry instinctively turned his face to Ria's breasts. One tiny hand came up to press against her sternum. "Sydney, find a servant to bring us a platter of hot-cross buns, a jug of milk, and wine. We need glasses and napkins as well. When you finish, fetch some down comforters for our visitors." Without seeing if Marcia would carry out the orders, Ria walked back to her chair behind the desk.

Marcia sighed heavily, knowing a dismissal when she was given one. She departed to carry out her mother's orders. Outside the office, she looked around for someone to fetch the things Ria had wanted. A single frost gremlin was at the very end of the hall. It peered at her, and then scampered away as fast as its stubby legs could carry it. "Figures," she muttered to herself as she ran after the frost gremlin. "Just when I need people to do something for me, they have to run away. Come back!" she yelled.

Around the corner, there was no sight of the frost gremlin. "Bah!" She paused a moment to sniff at the air. She could only catch the scent of frost gremlins and ice elves, the latter having passed by more than an hour ago. She sighed and scampered off to inform the kitchens to send along what Ria had requested.

The kitchens, unlike the rest of the Great Northern Kingdom, were made out of stone. Originally the fireplaces were the only sections of the castle made from stone, but after Patches accidentally melted the kitchens (how she did it was still unknown to everyone but herself, and _she_ certainly wasn't telling anyone), they were replaced with solid stone. Marcia's footsteps echoed down the length of the back stairs as she scampered down them to the large rooms at the end. The kitchens were low and long, with fireplaces lining the wall and pots and pans hanging in between. Only a few of the ice elves, creatures with silvery hair and eyes and crystalline wings, glanced at her as she entered the room. Many of the others bustled about, laden with armfuls of dishes, platters, various fruits and vegetables, and cooking utensils. Round tables filled the room, many topped with various cooking needs. The tables were surrounded with kitchen workers.

Ria often referred to the kitchens as the "kingdom's melting pot." Beings from all over Vernon flocked to Winter's Ambit, many for work. Humans, elves, dwarves, trolls, and gremlins readily found employment in the kitchens. With such a casual atmosphere in the kingdom, high-ranking individuals such as the Queen were often overlooked when they entered the kitchens. As far as the workers were concerned, the one in charge was a chunky ice elf named Lady Tess, who was severe and no-nonsense and always carried a rolling pin, which she used to smack slackers.

Marcia found Nandin in the kitchen, seated alone next to one of the fireplaces. She only noticed him because everyone else made a point to avoid him, including the rolling pin-wielding Lady Tess. Marcia made a beeline for Nandin. His chair was tilted back on its two hind legs and his feet, crossed at the ankles, were propped against the flat surface of the table.

Marcia had to wonder why he hadn't been whacked yet. Every time _she _tried to put her feet on the table, Lady Tess descended upon her like the Four Horsemen upon a doomed nation to thump some sense into Marcia with her gigantic rolling pin.

Nandin observed Marcia coolly, but said nothing when she sat down in the chair next to him. "Nandin?"

"Sydney."

"I need you to do something for me."

He blinked lazily at her, but said nothing. Marcia recognized that as a sign he was listening — or most likely too satiated to move away from her. She glanced at the empty pitcher where a few drops of milk still clung to the rim.

"Mama and I have some visitors. I'm supposed to get some snacks and some blankets." She sighed and slumped over. "Can you get her the snacks while I find the comforters?"

Nandin stretched languidly. There were a few titters from some of the younger ice elf maidens, and even some from the humans. Nandin glanced over Marcia's shoulder and then nodded once. "What does Mom need?"

Marcia giggled and hugged herself. "Oh wonderful!" She jumped to her feet. "Mama wants a platter of hot-cross buns fresh from the ovens, a jug of milk, a container of wine, napkins, and five glasses! Thank you!" She scampered off before Nandin could change his mind. She scrambled out of the kitchens without bumping into anyone, and up the servants' steps to the Queen's Quarters.

The Queen's Quarters were not anymore impressive than the rest of Winter's Ambit. It was just a set of suites Ria dwelled in, large enough to accommodate herself, her husband when he visited, and all twelve of her children. Marcia, having grown up in Winter's Ambit (relatively speaking, of course), was well-familiar with the quarters. In a large trunk tucked away in the corner of Ria's sitting room were comforters. Some of them were stuffed with goose's down, others with sheared wool, or cotton. Marcia did not particularly care what anyone got for a comforter, so she threw her arms wide to gather up three off the top. Her small arms could not carry the comforters without various folds falling out of her hold and tripping her up.

"Oh." Marcia plopped down on her bottom and stared at the rumpled pile of comforters on her lap. She sighed. She spread them out, one on top of the other, gathered up the corners in two tight fists, and then pulled them over her head like a many-layered hood. She pulled them along behind her as she made her way back, tripping more than once when her feet got tangled up. Marcia made it to the door that opened into the Stateroom at the same time Nandin arrived with the platter of food, drink, and utensils he had agreed to fetch for Marcia.

"Oh, lovely!" Marcia declared happily. "Just in time to open the door for me!"

Nandin looked pointedly at his hands, both of which gripped the heavy tray he carried. "Why don't you put down your blankets and open the door?" he asked.

" 'Cause I might get them dirty." This fully ignored the fact that Marcia had drug them on the floor in the first place. "Why don't you put down the tray and open the door?"

"I don't believe I'd be able to pick it back up once I set it down."

Marcia and Nandin glared at one another.

The door swung open to reveal Ria. "You could have called for my help rather than argue loud enough for everyone to hear you," she said darkly. Nandin shrugged, unaffected by his mother's displeasure. Marcia felt a slight bit of shame, and then ruthlessly squashed it. Ria stepped to the side to make room for Nandin and Marcia. Nandin swept wordlessly past her, his tray balance precariously in his two hands. Marcia tightened her grip on the comforters and dragged over to Dumbledore, whom she reasoned deserved the first, considering his age.

She help spread the one on top over his lap and smooth out the wrinkles as Nandin set the tray down on Ria's desk with a clatter. Ria's luscious cloak was folded on top of her desk and Harry nestled in it, drooling softly as he slept. His little fists were pressed against his chubby cheeks, and a single corner of the cloak was tucked carefully around his lower half.

Ria dropped in to her seat behind her chair and looked at Marcia with a little smile on her lip. "I was just telling the professors some of your more embarrassing childhood stories."

Marcia paused in the act of unfolding the comforter to spread across McGonagall's lap. She stared at her mother as she tried to translate embarrassing into something she understood.

"Embarrassing for who?" Nandin asked dryly.

"Yeah," said Marcia. "For who?"

"Sydney wouldn't know the meaning of embarrassment if it mugged her in bright sunlight."

"Yeah — what? Nandin!" Marcia glared at him.

"Nandin." Ria's soft voice held a warning. "_Thank__you_ for the tray." Nandin said nothing as he walked past her and left the room. Ria rolled her eyes as she sat in her chair, which she had pulled around her desk so it faced the visitors. "Marcia, the refreshments." She gestured at the tray.

Snape stirred from where he sat stiffly. "Do all your children behave like juvenile delinquents?" he asked. He waved a compliant hand. "I ask only out of curiosity, of course, as we do intend to see what sort of family we might," he gave Dumbledore a dark look, "be giving Harry to." He clearly wanted to say more, but he restrained himself against it. Marcia ignored him as she tossed him the remaining comforter.

"A justifiable inquiry," Ria said. "As an answer: no, not all my children are like this, and yet they are all like this. In my family, words mean very little. It is the actions that often accompany the words that matter. The children tease one another, and that's to be expected among siblings. However, there is no enmity between any of them. If someone is in trouble, everyone is eager to grant their aid."

_If only for the chance to beat up something,_ Marcia thought. She was glad Ria was the one explaining the family. Were it left to her, Marcia would babble about how Patches was a crazy psycho who was most unfortunately the strongest of all the children, Rufus and Seraph were traveling bums who probably hadn't taken a bath since Ambrose was born, Hestia had six split personalities, Knives and Victor were two maniacs who went into the demolition business because it suited their need to blow up stuff, Everett was a multi-world class fighter who dressed in as little as possible, Claudia was a obsessive-compulsive kleptomaniac, Molly was a stalker of rich and/or famous (but always beautiful) people, and Ambrose was the only relatively normal person, being the head of the Eight Councils of Magic in the realm of Summer, except he was browbeaten by his six older sisters and had sworn he would sooner sleep with men before he took a wife. Marcia found Ambrose's being with a man highly unlikely too, being browbeaten by five older brothers.

Marcia folded the napkins in cute little triangles, placed a hot-cross bun on each of them, and then poured a glass of milk for Dumbledore, and two glasses of wine, one for McGonagall and one for Ria. She distributed the buns and glasses, and then was caught in a moral dilemma. She looked at Snape, who coldly glared back at her. She looked at her mother, who gestured impatiently. Marcia sighed. "Would you like anything?" she reluctantly asked Snape.

The look he gave her was clear enough of what he would like. Marcia looked helplessly at Ria, who appeared to be ignoring Snape's behavior. That was a good thing, because then Ria would ask Marcia what she had done to Snape. Even though Marcia hadn't initially done anything at all, Ria might be unhappy to learn how Marcia had dangled Snape out a window. "Since Sydney is now present, I wish to discuss the business of adopting Harry. What are the rules and traditions of your kind? I'm afraid there is little I know of this 'wizarding world.' If you would, do acquaint me with your customs."

Dumbledore took a quick sip of milk. "Your daughter was most insistent upon caring for Harry," he said. "Harry's father, James Potter, gifted Harry to her because she claims that he deemed it wisest, as she could train Harry in his demonic powers. She said that not knowing how to control his abilities could be disastrous and gave a brief explanation. I would just like another point of view on this. Harry is the one I am mainly concerned about, but it is _absolutely_ necessary Harry learns how to control his demonic power from a demon?"

Ria sighed as she looked over at Harry, who was still sleeping on her cloak. "You must understand," she said, "a demon's nature is that of a predator's, with very few exceptions of course."

Dumbledore looked curious, even if his eyes were sharp and penetrating as he shot a quick glance at Marcia. "Such as?"

"Such as some of the animal demons. I'll use Sydney as an example. She's a crow demon. By themselves as an animal, crows are mischievous creatures with little to no aggression. As a demon, crows are mischievous creatures with little to no aggression. For animal demons, their nature closely matches their animal's form. Being a demon further compounds the nature, for demons are very dangerous, very Chaotic creatures. It is the same for all, whether runic or animalistic, even when being of a mild nature. Humans are tamer, and therefore their blood eases the aggression. But with demonic blood combined with the human blood, well," Ria shrugged helplessly, "demonlings and demons are too alike in their strengths and powers for demonlings to be considered inferior or tainted.

"Harry's not knowing how to control his abilities is, of course, disastrous. The power of rune demons is much more random, more unpredictable than animal demons. They do not take animal forms or personalities, but control elements. So rather than having an animal demon lose control and then slaughter every living being in reach, you get a much larger scale of damage. A rune demon whose element of water could either flood an entire area, or turn it bone-dry as a desert in the middle of summer beneath a hot sun. Their element is their source of strength, but also their source of protection. Loss of control is quite easy for anyone who has little idea of what they're to do. The power wielded is great, so the damage from loss of control takes place on a massive scale."

Ria pressed her lips together and paused to give the others a chance to ask questions. She looked expectedly at the visitors, but when they said nothing she continued in her explanation. "You ask me why is it absolutely necessary Harry must learn how to control his power from a demon, and I say this: Only a demon can explain to you how they draws their element to them. Only a demon can show control and manipulation of such a massive amount of power. Can you, a human, understand how an animal demon is two in one but only one in two? Can you, a human, explain something of which you have no understanding?"

"But Miss Runes," McGonagall said as a frown creased her brow, "is an animal demon. How can she train a rune demon?"

Ria leaned back and looked thoughtful. "A demon is as a demon does. Or rather, regardless of class, level, or type, demons recognize one another and each other's abilities." She glanced at Marcia for confirmation, and Marcia vigorously nodded her head in agreement. "The learning of control can be applied in many different areas. Applying it all means the same to a demon. Granted, animal demons are weaker than rune demons, but animal demons have a greater control. It's almost as if animal demons have dual personalities that overlap into the one you currently see. To disallow a dangerous crossover of characteristics of one into the other takes the same sort of control as a rune demon who manifests their element. Sydney knows how to control her speed and strength. She uses that same control over the little crow." Ria glanced sideways at her daughter. "We think," she added wryly.

Marcia decided not to dignify that with a response.

Ria looked at the others. "Any other questions?"

Dumbledore stirred. He dipped his hot-cross bun in his milk and smiled at Ria. "Yes. Family. Tell us more of your family." He nibbled daintily on the hot-cross bun.

Marcia could feel Ria tense at the suggestion. She could not help but grin, knowing full well, since no matter how many kind adjectives Ria could think up, there was no escaping the fact that the family _was _violently dysfunctional.

"Well," began Ria carefully, "they are all rune-demons, with a hint of animalistic blood in them." They gave her an odd look and she shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. My grandmother is a, ah, bird demon, and her blood was dominant in my mother. After that generation, it became weaker and is co-dominant with Chaos and human nature for myself. My husband is a rune demon, and his demonic blood is not as removed as mine, so my children are primarily rune demons with hints of my demonic blood. It makes for an, ah, interesting combination."

Marcia's grin widened. All too well did she know. She turned to the wine and poured two glassfuls, one for her mother and the other for McGonagall. She passed the glasses out, still grinning.

Ria gave Marcia a warning look as McGonagall spoke. "Miss Runes said you had several children."

"Twelve; two of whom are adopted — Sydney and Nandin. I should point out here they are the eldest, having been adopted shortly after I married."

"How old is Marcia?" McGonagall asked as she looked at the person in question.

Ria shrugged. "I'm not sure." She turned to Marcia. "How old are you?"

Marcia shrugged. "Add seventeen to your current number of wedding anniversaries."

"Ah." Ria rubbed her chin. "The last one to be celebrated." An odd look crossed her face. "At any rate, all my children are old enough to know better." She took a sip of her wine. "If it helps, demonic age is not the same as human age. Demons grow at the same rate as humans, but they do not mature or age as fast. Sexual maturation is about three times slower for demons to reach than it is for humans, although demonlings reach theirs at a much earlier rate than do demons."

Dumbledore smiled brightly. "What do your children do? For livelihoods or hobbies. I'm interested in knowing how they spend their time."

Ria hesitated for a moment. "Well, a few are adventurers. They care to explore and the only time I ever hear from them is when they have gotten into trouble with the law and need someone to vouch for their character... or when they are in desperate need of money," she added darkly before taking a sip of wine, no doubt recalling the most recent mob of bill collectors dumped unceremoniously on the doorstep of Winter's Ambit, courtesy of Hestia and Personality #4.

"They showed up for your birthday party," Marcia said cheerfully. The look Ria gave her was frigid.

"They did, indeed, didn't they?" Marcia cringed at Ria's cold words. Was she still upset about that cake matter? That was eighteen years ago! Admittedly, Marcia supposed Ria wasn't too happy about how all twelve children had crammed themselves into a cake to pop out of, and the mess had taken several weeks to clean up, especially when no one was willing to foot the bill... (She had tried, in all honesty, but there's only so much cake one can eat before becoming quite tired of it.)

Ria sighed and shook her head with a small laugh. "They are their father's children," she said tenderly. "The adventurers would be two daughters — Patches and Everett — and two sons — Rufus and Seraph. Patches is a ghost hunter, and Everett is a professional, world-class fighter. Rufus and Seraph just wander and explore. I have one son who is head of a school." Ria glowed with pride. "Ambrose is the 'baby' of the family, the youngest of all twelve. Claudia makes a living of collecting things."

_When she isn't in jail for "collecting" without asking,_ Marcia thought viciously.

"Hestia is currently visiting my brother, Gabrielle, in Tempest. That's an island kingdom that is beyond the country here. Hestia still resides with me, and she's an artist."

_At least two of her personalities are. _Marcia snuck a quick swig from the bottle of wine.

"My twins, Knives and Victor, own their own demolition business. They build tunnels and roads."

_By blowing up the things in their way._ Marcia wiped the back of her mouth and took another sip of wine. She ignored the glare her mother gave her for drinking directly from the bottle.

"And Molly..." Again, Ria hesitated. "Molly tends to do her own sort of thing. Usually she explores as well, but mostly she, ah, studies people."

Marcia snickered. That was a kind way of downplaying Molly's stalking people; she had underestimated her mother's diplomacy skills. She supposed it was just as well. If the wizards knew the complete level of dysfunction in her family, they would probably grab Harry and make a wild run for the nearest exit.

"And, of course, there is my eldest two, Sydney, here, and Nandin, whom you saw earlier. Nandin and Sydney were mercenaries before I adopted them. Nandin is a currently guard in my army, a freelancer who does errands for me when protection or discretion demands such. Sydney does what she wills when she wants, but she teams up with Nandin to help him when he needs a partner."

Ria only did asked Marcia to do that when she thought there was a risk of Nandin killing someone. Marcia went along to make sure no one got hurt, or at least not terribly so, and the only way she ever managed it was by distracting Nandin's vengeance from his original target to her. At least _she _knew how to hide from him.

"What of your adoption methods?" Dumbledore asked. "How did you adopt your daughter? Was there any legal process you had to go through?"

Ria gave Marcia a cool look. "I am the Queen of Winter," she said. Marcia shrugged guiltlessly. Ria turned back to the wizards and witch. "My word is the law," she said as she straightened her posture. "In this Kingdom, and in all realms of Winter, and during Winter's season, I am the ruling power. If I say Sydney is my daughter, she is. If I say Harry is Sydney's son, he is. It's very hassle-free," she added with a smile meant to appease the apprehension McGonagall and Snape made no effort to hide.

Dumbledore brushed the crumbs from his beard. "I see." He smiled as he stood up. "Would you mind giving us a tour of the castle?" he asked curiously. "I have never seen one made of ice. It would be a fascinating environment for a fire demon to grow up in."

"Harry is not at all affected by the cold," Ria said as she stood up. "It suits his element quite well, indeed." Marcia bounced over to Ria's desk where Harry lay still asleep and gently picked him up. Harry stirred and blinked at Marcia as she draped him against her shoulder and patted his back soothingly; he murmured something before closing his eyes and going back to sleep. Ria grabbed her thick cloak and slung it over her shoulders on before leading the others out.

"What history does the castle have?" Snape asked quietly after Dumbledore and McGonagall. Marcia followed at his heels, jealously wondering how he managed to make his black cloak billow outward. Every time she tried to make her cloak billow impressively, she usually tripped over the hem and fell on her nose.

"The castle is relatively new," Ria replied over her shoulder. "I saw it built in the beginning of my reign. Shall we start from the bottom and make our way up? I cannot completely show you the entire castle, as that would take many days. The kitchens, a dining hall, the ballroom, the great hall, a few guestrooms, perhaps the library if there is time, and one of the towers. The view from them is worth the twenty-thousand steps."

"Are there truly twenty-thousand steps?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"From the kitchens to the nearest tower, yes."

"I should know," Marcia piped up from the back. "I counted them myself."

"Little things," said Snape softly enough for only Marcia to hear, "to entertain little minds."

Marcia tried to reach a foot out and trip him, but she was too small and he was too long-legged. The first time the Lord of Chaos had met Marciabit in Winter's Am, he decided to see how far her suicidal foolishness was going to last, so he made her count the steps, forcing her to begin again whenever he thought she missed a number, and then doing it twice more when she finally succeeded just to see if it was an accurate number. There were actually 20,341 steps, but the number was always rounded down.

But since the Lord of Chaos had shadowed her the entire time, what did that say about _his_ mind?

"The castle is huge," McGonagall muttered. "Tell me, why are there signs giving directions everywhere on the walls?"

"So people do not get too lost, myself especially." Ria nodded her head in greeting to a passing ice elf. He grinned cheekily at Ria as he bound down the hallway, his wings shimmering in the translucent light.

"What is that?" McGonagall asked.

"That is Nimm. He's an ice elf, and there are many in Winter's Kingdom. I suspect them of illicit breeding," Ria added dryly.

McGonagall stopped and looked after the ice elf as the others continued on. Marcia stopped at McGonagall's side. "There's all sorts of elves here," Marcia said helpfully. "Plains elves, wood elves, ice elves." She stopped. "I think that's about it, but then you have tall elves, short elves, elves of all different colors. Come on, they're outdistancing us." Marcia tugged on McGonagall's robes for attention. McGonagall gave way to it. "Mama's talking about the kitchens!"

* * *

The tour of the castle, once Ria learned that the wizards and witch had left Hogwarts in the evening, was relatively quick. She only showed them the kitchens, the great hall, and a few bedrooms. All the while, she spoke of Winter's domain and of the other seasonal domains. In some ways, the showing of Winter's Ambit did more to convince the others that Marcia would be a good mother than words could. There was wealth and prestige tied not only in the castle, but also stability and care. This was a good atmosphere to raise a child. 

Most certainly the odd magical creatures, from the ice elves to the frost gremlins, would teach Harry how to accept differences. He would have a good start on knowing about the different creatures. There was money, but Harry had inherited that from his parents. The stability was what Dumbledore liked the most. It was a good, steady atmosphere that dissolved stress ("Except," Ria said, "during tax season."), and there was also a brightness that encouraged good moods. The kingdom was a peaceful, serene place where aggression and violence was discouraged.

Marcia was eager to raise Harry, and that was very apparent to the others from the possessive and tender way she held Harry. It spoke of the willingness to sacrifice for another, and the happiness that comes with caring for those younger, more vulnerable, and ultimately cuter that oneself. Even as Ria radiated motherhood to its fullest sense, Marcia tried radiate such as well, as if soaking in Ria's motherhood like a sponge would water. Harry slept well in her arms for a small part of the journey, but awoke fussy. Marcia left the group for the kitchens to feed him. While she was gone, Snape asked several questions of Marcia's personality.

"Is she responsible?"

"I cannot say," Ria replied honestly. "She was never given anything to be responsible for - although she's good at taking care of herself, if that is of any use."

"How does she get along with other people?"

"It rather depends on the person." Ria spread her hands and shrugged. "Sydney gets along best with Nandin, which surprises most of us because Nandin barely put up with her--well, he barely puts up with anyone, but Sydney is very undemanding and Nandin doesn't feel threatened by her. There are, of course, those who find Sydney's personality and behavior exasperating . . ." Snape snorted in disdain. Ria looked at him expectedly, but he said nothing. She shrugged then, well-used to people's pointed and disdainful looks and wordless sounds. "I would be honest that Sydney is certainly the last person I would have expected to have children. Nevertheless, I do not suspect she would make a _poor_ or _terrible_ mother."

"What gives you reason," said McGonagall carefully, "to think she would be a _good_ mother? She appears to me to be rather flighty and doesn't quite seem to understand the implications involved with raising a child."

"Oh, believe me," Ria said with a lopsided twist of her mouth, "she knows exactly what the implications of raising a child is." She pressed her non-crippled fingers against her lips in thought, and then dropped them. "Which is why she was rarely around when the ten I gave birth to were still quite young. However, she _is_ willing to learn."

"Would _you_ be willing to adopt?" Dumbledore asked.

Ria snorted and stepped to the side, as if trying to physically avoid the subject. "My demonic blood is not enough to be of a duel nature. I am far more human than either my husband or any of my children, so I would hardly be considered a good teacher for Harry." Her posture indicated that the subject was no longer open for discussion, and they wordlessly continued with the tour.

It was determined that, until a permanent gateway between Winter's Ambit and the wizarding world was established, Marcia would stay at Hogwarts with Harry. A permanent gateway would be nice, for the wizarding world could explore new realities and Harry would have permanent connections with both Marcia's family and the wizarding world. Staying at Hogwarts would make it easier for social workers to interview her and construct an adoption case for Harry. In the meanwhile, Ria would talk Ambrose into creating a semi-permanent Dore to connect with Hogwarts.

Ria and Marcia packed a few dozen baby outfits, several bottles, baby wipes, and a week's worth of diapers into a trunk, which they placed inside a little red wagon. Dumbledore watched them in amused silence; he carried Harry, who patted and tugged with fascination Dumbledore's long white beard. Snape drooped tiredly and his patience (already noticeably lacking) was thin. McGonagall kept yawning behind a raised hand.

When the trunk was at last packed and set firmly on the wagon, Ria handed Marcia two Dores. Marcia tucked one in her pocket and tossed the other one against the wall. The Dore splattered against the wall and spread itself upward and outward until a solid blue doorway had been created. Marcia was the first to step through, pulling the little red wagon along behind her. She stretched her arms wide to plant her hands on either side of the Dore and frowned in concentration. The color flared momentarily and sealed itself. The others filed in behind with Dumbledore still carrying Harry.

Ria stuck the upper half of her body through the doorway and glanced quickly around. "Before the way closes," she said to Marcia, "do you want me to send Nandin along to relay messages between the two of us?"

Marcia suddenly had a vision of Nandin stringing Snape from a flagpole. "Nuh-uh. Think I'm fine."

Dumbledore nodded his head assuring as he bowed to Ria. "I will personally see to it that your daughter remains in good hands. She may stay in one of the many fine suites Hogwarts has."

Ria nodded. "Very well. Then I shall bid you a farewell for now." She bobbed a quick curtsy, and then pulled herself out of the Dore. It faded away until only the stonewall it imposed itself upon remained.

Dumbledore turned to Marcia. "Come," he said, "follow me." She pulled the cart behind her as she followed after him to a flight of stairs. Dumbledore turned to Marcia. "Do you need help getting the wagon down the steps?"

Marcia looked at the material sitting inside the wagon. "Well, if I tie the stuff down so it doesn't fall out, I can pull it after me," she said.

"Allow me." Dumbledore pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the wagon.

Marcia saw a thin film of light surround the wagon and lift it off the ground. "Or we can do that," she said. She pulled the handle. The wagon floated close to her side, and down the steps without tilting and spilling the material out. "This is nifty!" she said excitedly. She followed Dumbledore down the stairs to a hallway, down the length of it, through some twists and turns, up another flight of stairs, and finally reached a bedroom door that Dumbledore unlocked with a large, skeleton-shaped key. Inside the room was a large four-poster bed in the far corner, a fireplace, three over-stuffed chairs in the middle of the room around a small coffee table, a large set of drawers in the corner, and a closet with only three hangers.

Marcia looked around as Dumbledore sat Harry down on the bed. She was inspecting the closet as Dumbledore walked to the door. "If you need anything," he said as he turned a piece of fluff into a bell, "ring this and a house elf will appear. You may ask it for various things such as food, water, and simple supplies."

Marcia nodded. "Uh huh."

"You may also explore Hogwarts at your convenience."

"Okay." Marcia glanced over at the bed. Harry was curled up on the blanket. "I'll do that later in the morning. Harry needs his rest."

"Very good. I bid you good evening then, Miss Runes."

"Yah. Good night, Professor Dumbledore." She waved as Dumbledore left the room. Marcia sank down on the bed next to Harry and patted his dark hair.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Yes, I know that dore is spelled completely different from door. Ria trademarked it that way, for crying out loud. Sheesh.

* * *


	3. Chapter Three: Process of Adoption

The next morning dawned bright and early. Marcia had no idea that it was dawn outside, but she did reason it was fairly early and she had yet to sleep. Harry, curled up in her lap, sniffed and wiped his nose. He had taken a short nap and then awoke in a fussy mood. No amount of cajoling or comforting had made him calm down. Unable to sleep, Marcia tried to feed Harry some strained rice she talked an ugly little green creature with large ears and eyes into fetching from the kitchen. Harry angrily spilt the rice on the bed coverings, which Marcia had to clean. When she tried to change his diaper, he squealed and crawled, naked as the day he was born, out of her reach. While Marcia was fetching a diaper and the wipes from where they were stored on the little red wagon, he somehow managed to open the suite's door and crawl laughing down the hall.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Marcia demanded as she pounced on him. Harry screamed in rage as she carried him back to the room. He continued to fuss after that, fire flaring up around his body in periodic spurts. His runes were back now and were in direct contrast with his pale skin. Twice he caught the bed on fire. Both times, he brightened and tried to play with the fire until Marcia beat the flames out with his baby blanket. Both times, he burst into tears and wailed, "Muuuuuuuuuuummmm! Daaaaaa!"

After an hour of fussiness and wails, Marcia decided it would be in her best interest to take Harry for a walk through Hogwarts. Moving might take his mind off his now-dead parents, and maybe the novelty of the castle would cheer him up. With that notion firmly in her mind, Marcia lined the little red wagon (which still floated from Dumbledore's magic) with a fluffy pink blanket and then added a few stuffed toys and rattles just in case. She did a quick check on the contents of a cloth bag (diapers, fresh cloths, some more toys, a baby bottle, formula, and a pacifier; Ria may have a Dark Ages-isque castle in an ancient-based Realm, but she had been overjoyed with modern baby conveniences Marcia fetched from a far-away galaxy for Ambrose's baby shower. A few years ago, it had caused alarm that Ria took to disappearing in the evening; upon investigating Marcia learned that Ria had created a Dore to the Realm of Reality and was taking basket-weaving for senior citizens at an obscure community college in the middle of Canada), but paused a moment to wonder over a fuzzy pair of white earmuffs, slightly worn from use. She glanced at Harry as he wailed again. Oh. She tossed them on the bed and knew they would be put to good use later tonight.

She placed Harry in the little red wagon, gave him the dog that squeaked when squeezed, and set off to look around. Harry sniffed and pounded the dog against the floor of the wagon. It squeaked with each pound. Harry stared at it for a moment before he threw it at Marcia. It bounced off her head with a squeak. She whirled around. "What was that for?"

Harry grinned at her. Marcia stared at him for a moment before she turned away with a wordless grumble. She continued forward, stooping and grabbing the toy dog from where it lay on the stone floor in her path, and tossed it over her shoulder into the little red wagon. Harry threw it at her again. Marcia tucked the toy dog into her pocket after that. "If you don't want to play with it," she said over her shoulder, "then you won't get to." Harry ignored her in favor of chewing on the corner of his fluffy pink blanket. Marcia noticed that his runes had already faded, except the scar was a little more vivid against his skin than normal.

After several twists, turns, and flights of stairs, Marcia found a rather large hall. Four long tables stretched from one end to the other vertically and, at the very back of the room, was a not-so-large table arranged horizontally. There were a few children seated at the large tables here and there, and at the not-so-large table Marcia thought she could see Dumbledore. It was a figure with long white hair and beard; that, to Marcia, was clearly Dumbledore. Pulling Harry in his wagon behind her, she made her way around the large tables to the very front of room. The children seated at the tables took notice of her. Most of them turned to the person they were seated next and began to whisper behind hands.

Marcia ignored them. She was used to whispers, which almost always involving stories about her of some sort (most of which, unfortunately, were only slightly exaggerated versions of the truth). Harry brightened at the sight of Dumbledore, and reached out to the old man when Marcia pulled the little wagon closely over to him. Other people at the not-so-large table looked confused with Marcia's presence. "Harry and I are exploring," she said brightly. "Are there any baby-safe areas you would recommend?"

Dumbledore reached down and picked up Harry. Harry squealed with laughter and played with the long white beard. "There are various towers filled with wonders of all sorts," he said. "I would recommend the library, but a child as young as Harry does not have the concept of being quiet."

Snape, seated unnoticed at the end of the table, snorted. "And it doesn't change with age," he muttered darkly as he cast an Evil Eye on the surrounding student body. Dumbledore didn't hear him, but Marcia did. She looked down the length of the table at him, and then turned back to Dumbledore. She leaned close to him and whispered behind her hand.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

Dumbledore did not look around to see of whom Marcia spoke. "Young Severus lives here at Hogwarts for the time being. He has some problems and is staying here until they are sorted out."

Marcia looked at Snape. He was stabbing his eggs with more force than they deserved. She turned to Dumbledore and whispered behind her hand again. "Just how likely are these problems going to be sorted out?"

Dumbledore smiled and shrugged, palms outward. "Perhaps indefinitely."

She looked back at Snape. "Where's he staying?"

"The castle dungeons."

In Marcia's experience, the castle dungeons always held the prisons and the torture chambers, and were dark and dismal (which, she supposed, was sort of the point behind being the ideal places for prisons and torture chambers). Anyone who voluntarily lived there probably enjoyed what took place in the dungeons. She looked down the length of the table again. That figured a lot of Snape; he looked the sort to like dark and dismal places. "I'm not going to explore no dungeon with Harry," she said firmly. "Don't think he'd be a good role model for my little Harry."

Dumbledore's expression, usually so benign and kind, became grim as he stopped playing with Harry and looked at Marcia over the rim of his glasses. "Why do you say that?"

Marcia shrugged. "He smells."

"So you judge people on their scents?"

Marcia rubbed a cheek and tried to not feel bothered by the disapproving look Dumbledore was giving her. It looked suspiciously like her father's when he was upset with Marcia or Patches. "Um. Yeah."

"Is that a good thing to do? You cannot fully comprehend what a person is and if they are good or not simply by their scent."

Well, maybe not, but that didn't mean she had stop it _now_. She looked at her hands and sniffed them. Chaos and blood tainted her, as well as chilly frost and warm sunshine, although she mostly just smelled like a crow (a crow that took regular baths with baby powder-scented bubble bath, but a crow nonetheless). Most of the scents clung to her by association. Still, Snape did not like Marcia and she did not like him, and they were both willing at this point to leave the hate-hate situation the way it was. She looked down at Harry, who was trying to stand up in his wagon for a closer look at Dumbledore. He smiled toothily at the old man and cooed. Now would be a good time to change the subject before this conversation deteriorated into discussing Marcia's faults, as they usually tended to do. "Isn't he cute?" Marcia ruffled Harry's hair.

"Yes." Dumbledore favored Harry with a bright smile. Harry reached a hand out to the old man, babbling cheerfully as he patted the table's edge when he found he could not reach Dumbledore. "I would say the lake is a lovely place for a child, so long as you do not let him near the water."

"He's a fire demon. Don't think he's going to need my help to stay far from it." Marcia dreaded the idea of giving Harry a bath; it would probably turn into an embarrassingly wet fiasco. "So then I'm off to explore the castle and maybe come up with some interesting stuff." She grinned and pulled the wagon down the length of the room with her. She ignored the children's faces, but made a mental note of who smelled the best for babysitting. Once out of the sight of Dumbledore, Harry began to fuss again.

Marcia stopped beneath a portrait to try and calm him down. "It's okay, Harry," she said, picking him up. Harry twined his hands into her black hair and his lower lip trembled.

"Thiruth."

Marcia blinked. "Who?"

Harry began to cry again. Marcia sighed. "What you need are some playmates," she muttered to herself.

"What he needs," said a different voice, "is discipline."

Marcia looked around for the voice, but all she found was a portrait. It was an old man wearing wrinkled, dark mauve-colored robes. The old man squinted at her. "Why, were he _my_ child, I'd give him a good pop on the bottom." Marcia didn't think that would be a wise move; it would only make Harry cry more, and then he might grow up to be a scarred and haunted man who would never give her flowers or cards for Mother's Day.

"But he's only a little baby," Marcia said pointedly.

"All the more reason to start now. Teach 'em early, I say. Give the little snot a reason to wail."

Marcia studied the portrait, wondering how it moved and spoke. She prodded the canvass and earned a dirty look for it. "I don't think my Mama would approve of my spanking Harry."

The old man wheezed. "Ah, one of _those_." He waved his hand dismissively, as if that explained what he meant. Marcia scratched her head.

"One of what?"

"One of those." The man waved his hands and frowned in concentration. "Had them in my youth. They'd burn their undies and prance around in the nude, proclaiming their right to equality and all that other sort of nonsense." The leering look on the old man's face clearly said that, though he thought it was nonsense, he had enjoyed the nudity part a great deal.

"Think you're misogynistic." Marcia felt proud of herself for knowing how to pronounce the word, let alone what it meant. She should, since it usually came in the dialogue between Aunt Heather and Uncle Gabby.

"Bah." The old man waved Marcia's words away. "Can't be. I faint at the sight of my own blood and can't stand the thought of bruising."

Marcia dug through her pockets for a moment in search of the pocket dictionary Nandin had given her for her birthday a few years ago, and then remembered she had used it to fend off the cannibalistic munchkins, and had lost pages upon pages after she broke the spine. She screwed her face up in concentration as she tried to remember how to pronounce certain words. "Misogynistic is woman-hating; masochism," she said the word slowly to be sure it was spoken correctly (a word commonly associated with Nandin), "is enjoying pain. Look; this conversation just got inappropriate for the current audience." She pointed discreetly at Harry, but the old man didn't seem to notice. Instead, he studied Marcia, as if seeing her height for the first time.

"Yes, yes." He nodded his head absently. "I thought you looked a little young. Well, run along then, and play with your doll."

"He's not my doll! Harry's my son!"

The old man frowned. With a shake of his head, he turned away from Marcia. "They just keep getting younger and younger," he muttered under his breath. "I told them they should have promoted those chastity belts, but oh no. No one ever listens to me."

Marcia pulled Harry's little red wagon along as she marched down the hall in a huff. "No one ever listens to me, either," she said under her breath.

* * *

Harry and Marcia explored the castle thereafter without too many run-ins with other talking and moving portraits. She was unable to find her way out of the castle to where the lake was, and did not think it was very hospitable to leap out of fifth story windows with Ria's little red wagon.

A little group of shy eleven and twelve-year-olds quietly shadowed Harry and Marcia around after she happened upon them about eleven AM. They wore robes of identical styles, as school uniforms often were. Upon their breast was a patch with an ornate H. They wouldn't speak up when Marcia questioned them, but merely watched Harry with wide eyes filled with fascination.

Marcia hoped they wouldn't turn into stalkers like Molly, but she couldn't think of any reason why they'd even be following Harry. What did he do to deserve this? Marcia looked at Harry. He looked at her and drooled as babies wont to do. She looked down at herself; maybe it was _her_. She gave a dejected sigh.

Despite that, Marcia and Harry still enjoyed some of the architecture. Of all of it, she had to admit the moving stairwells were the most fascinating. No matter how much she studied the foot of the stairwells at their points of attachments, and no matter how hard she listened (even after she told the whispering children to hush and stuffed a pacifier into Harry's mouth to quiet his babblings), she could not hear any click or whir of mechanisms.

As she climbed the stairwells, pulling the floating little red wagon after herself, Marcia found herself drawn further and further into the actual how of the stairwells. The little group of children no longer followed her, but instead contented themselves with watching Marcia leap from stairwell to stairwell in a desperate attempt to ease her profound curiosity, the little red wagon floating in the air behind her energetic tugs. "It's just like magic!" Marcia told Harry with a breathless note in her voice. Harry gave her a cross-eyed look that read, _Well, duh,_ and went back to playing with his toes. Marcia climbed the stairs higher and higher and bypassed other groups of students. Most of these students had a G ornately embroidered on their breasts, and they also watched Harry with wide eyes. Some people looked exuberantly happy, as if they had won the lottery and it was Harry who had given them the ticket.

Marcia reached the end of one stairs that led off to a portrait of a fat lady wearing a frilly pink dress. With nightmares of her own frilly pink dresses she had been forced to wear during large formals held at Winter's Ambit, Marcia hurried away from the portrait after it began to move. She plowed into the stomach of a sturdy teenager and knocked him over. He had fine red hair that poofed into a ball of fuzz from too much static; it reminded Marcia of Rufus and Ambrose. "Oops. 'm sorry." She held her hand out to help him to his feet. He began to reach for her hand, and froze when his eyesight looked beyond Marcia to Harry. He leapt to his feet.

"Is that really him?" he asked, leaning over the little red wagon to eagerly peer closer at Harry. Harry stopped sucking on his pacifier and regarded the teenager with suspicion. After a moment, Harry resumed the sucking and ignored the teenager to play with his fingers. "Did he really do it like Dumbledore said?" The teenager whipped around to face Marcia. "Did he really kill You-Know-Who?"

"Voodeemoot?" Darn, already she forgot how to pronounce the name. Nonetheless, despite the slaughtering of the name, the teenage still winced and flinched back with a fearful glance at nearby shadows. Marcia scratched her head. "Who's this guy and why's everyone scared of him?"

The teenager looked at Marcia with dawning shock. "You don't know?" He shook his head disbelief. "Wow. I thought everyone did."

"Well, I'm not exactly from around here."

"Oh." The teenager looked down at Marcia, as if seeing her for the first time. She fidgeted self-consciously. "Oh," he said again. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is—-was a horrible Dark wizard who killed people. He uses—-used the Unforgivables, and ha—-had followers called Death Eaters. These times have been bad," he said solemnly with a hint of sadness. He brightened. "But Professor Dumbledore told us that Harry had killed You-Know-Who! At breakfast, too, just after you showed up! He almost gave us a holiday!" He looked at Harry with renewed fascination. "Is it true? Did he really do it?"

"Yup." Marcia could not keep the note of pride from her voice. "Did it in a flash of fire." She had no idea what the Unforgivables were or what using them entailed, but it sounded like a bad thing. And then there were those Death Eaters again. Now that she thought about it, the term sounded sort of like a cult, with lots of black clothes involved, and probably a lot of torturing and all-around psychopathic humor and insane laughs. At least, that had always been what Marcia experienced, but she secretly suspected her life was the gods' parody-in-making. Marcia did not believe gods existed, but they hadn't gotten around to figuring it out yet.

The teenager bent low to look closer at Harry. He smacked his lips in interest, and then brushed back Harry's hair to get a closer look at the lightening bolt-shaped scar. Harry spat out the pacifier and wailed in protest as he shoved the hand away. He covered the scar with his two small hands and glowered up at the teenager.

"Harry doesn't like his scar being touched," Marcia said helpfully.

"Oh." The teenager nodded his head and frowned in puzzlement. "Right." He whipped around to look at Marcia. "Where did he get it?"

"Got it from What's-His-Name."

"Oh." The teenager straightened. "Professor Dumbledore said you're adopting Harry." He rubbed his hands nervously. "I went to school with Harry's parents; they were the Headboy and Headgirl when I was in my first year, and I know that Sirius is Harry's godfather. Not to be rude, but why isn't Sirius taking care of Harry since, well, his parents died." The teenager dropped his eyes on the floor and gulped.

"Dunno." Marcia rubbed her ear. "Who's Sirius?"

"He was James' best friend. Wild-looking, black hair, rides a motorcycle."

In an instant, the image of the man riding the motorcycle in the evening sky popped into Marcia's mind. "That man?" she said, her mouth twisting in distaste. "He's crazy."

The teenager grinned. "He _is_ a bit wild; he's the only student to have ever wrestled the giant squid who lives in the lake and never suffer McGonagall's wrath for it."

Marcia remembered the sour scent of the man, but did not think that wrestling with a giant squid would constitute as crazy, since that was something most of her family would do and they never smelled sour. Well, she amended quickly, there are always exceptions to the rule, but Rufus and Seraph just smelled _foul_. She shrugged anyway and began to walk away.

"Wait!" The teenager hurried to stand before Marcia. In deference to their height differences, he squatted so Marcia did not have to crane her neck at a painful awkward angle. "Does Sirius know you have Harry? Does Remus Lupin know? He's another one of James' best friends. And Peter Pettygrew, too."

Marcia huffed, more of an explosive release of her breath than annoyance with the teenager, "James gave Harry to _me_ to adopt. If he wanted those other people to have him, he'd have said something about it." At least, she hoped he would have. Maybe James hadn't thought about how much help his friends could offer, or maybe death just made a person absent-minded. Still, if they were James' best friends, then it would be a good thing to contact them for Harry's sake. It wouldn't do to get the papers for adoption only to have these people ruin her chances. "Where can I find them?" she asked the teenager.

He shrugged in reply. "I'm not too sure. Lupin hasn't been seen since James and Lily got married, and no one has seen Sirius or Pettygrew since James or Lily disappeared." The teenager looked at Marcia. "They had to, you know, on account of You-Know-Who looking for them. Come to think about it, Sirius was supposed to be their Secret Keeper." A look of dawning realization filled the teenager's face. "I say! How could You-Know-Who find them unless the Secret Keeper told?"

Marcia had no idea (_Secret Keeper?),_ but she remained quiet as she watched the teenager think furiously of what he just said. "James and Lily shouldn't have been killed unless the Secret Keeper told, and everyone here knew that it was going to be Sirius on account of his being best friends with James." He looked at Marcia, chagrined. "Well, maybe not everyone. I knew, because Mum and Dad both know—er, knew James and Lily." He frowned thoughtfully. "And I wasn't even supposed to know, but Mum was crying and I asked what was wrong."

Marcia nodded her head again, silently encouraging the teenager to keep speaking. She needed to know more about these best friends of James. She had promised to let Harry know about his family, and best friends always counted as being informal family. And wouldn't Lily have best friends somewhere? Why did no one ever mention her? The teenager was lost in thought for a moment, and then his head jerked up in surprise.

"Oh. Gosh, I have classes here and I'm taking up all your time as well."

Marcia waved a polite hand. "S'no problem," she said graciously.

The teenager smiled. "Really? That's great. Say, would it be all right if I, er, come and see Harry now and then? And you too, of course."

Marcia considered it. She would need a babysitter in the future, and the boy smelled pleasantly of sunshine on grass. "All right," she said. " 'm Marcia Runes."

The teenager grinned and held out his hand. Marcia shook it. "I'm Bill Weasley."

"I'll be about the castle here," Marcia said. "Always up to exploring."

Bill pointed upward. "I'm a Gryffindor." Marcia's expression was blank, so he hastened to add, "I'm in the House of Gryffindor, and that's in a tower. Ask any other Gryffindor and they'll tell you Or you could ask Hufflepuffs or Slytherins or Ravenclaws. Any of them could tell you."

"Okay." Bill hurried off then, and Marcia looked around, trying to think of what these odd people meant by houses and towers and Gryffindors. Was that anything like a griffin? And the other names sounded suspiciously like. . . Hufflepuff definitely sounded squishy, and she wasn't sure what to make of Ravenclaw and Slytherin, other than to think of ravens (a sort-of close cousin; maybe she'd get along great with them) and snakes (a natural enemy; she probably would be better off avoiding them). Marcia shrugged the thoughts away and continued her up-and-down exploration of the castle. After a half hour, her stomach began to growl noisily. "Be quiet," she told it firmly with a sharp prod, "I'm too busy to feed you."

Not to be detoured, it growled louder. With a regretful look at the moving staircases, Marcia backtracked, following her own scent back to the room that was filled with food. As she moved from one moving staircase to another, she noticed a wan figure that seemed to be waiting at the very bottom of the stairs. When she finally reached the bottom, she took a closer look at the person. It was a small, fragile-looking woman whose skin was stretched taught over thin bones, wrapped in multiple shawls and scarves. A pair of glasses perched on the end of the woman's nose and magnified her eyes in such a bizarre manner that Marcia was tempted to reach out and step on the woman like a bug. Except that would probably be rude and probably taken as a hostile behavior.

"Is this him?" the woman asked, her voice feathery and high-pitched. She hurried over to the wagon to see Harry. Harry stopped in mid-suck on the pacifier and stared incredulously at the woman. He leaned back with a whimper and reached out to Marcia. "Ah, so this is the one . . ." The woman stared at Harry for a long moment. She shook her head with a regretful _tch_, and turned to Marcia. "I foresee a long and terrible time for this babe," she said with a mystical lilt in her voice and one hand poignantly raised in the air.

"You foresee?"

"Yes. I . . ." The woman paused and pressed her lips together, as if unsure of what she was about to say. "I can see the future," she said, gathering strength from the words and straightening proudly.

"Oh. Like a psychic?"

The woman opened her mouth to reply and paused. She snapped her mouth shut, thought a moment, and then nodded. "Close enough."

"Neat!" Marcia didn't know too many people who could see the future. The Lord of Chaos was one, but then he could always predict exactly what he was going to do and what sort of trouble it would cause—-which is why he would do it. Ilene could probably predict something, but she was an airhead whose only purpose was look good and give the Lord of Chaos a good lay.

Marcia flinched and looked around. The last time she had thought demeaning thoughts of her great-grandmother, the Lord of Chaos had given her the boot from the top of the Ada Bastion. It was a long fall to the bottom, and she did not feel like going through that again. "So, ah." She tried to distract herself from that line of thought. Images of the Lord of Chaos descending upon her to drag her up to the top of the Ada Bastion filled her head. "Can you predict anything for anyone, or is it just something limited to a few people you meet?"

The woman suddenly looked flustered. "Ah, er, the Eye doesn't come on demand; it's something that cannot be controlled."

"Oh." Marcia tried not to be disappointed at that. No one ever wanted to predict anything about her (except the Lord of Chaos, which had basically amounted to, "You're nothing but trouble. You've always been trouble. You will never amount to anything more than trouble, and you can't very well die, which makes you all the more troublesome. But I suppose that's where the fun lies, because it allows for so much _experimenting_." Marcia could feel the hair on the back of her neck rising at the memory of the Lord of Chaos rubbing his hands together in delight, but it wasn't much of a prophecy so it didn't really count).

"Well." The woman nervously glanced around, as if seeking escape. "Well, I do see something in your future." She closed her eyes and pressed a small hand against her forehead. "Yes." She nodded her head firmly. "I see death in your future."

"Eh?" That wasn't to be unexpected, Marcia supposed. Death was a nice enough fellow, once you got past the sallow skin and the long face. Ria had once invited him over for tea, but Marcia didn't think she wanted Death to meet Harry. He had an odd effect on people; mostly, they died. "Your death," the woman's voice dropped into a whisper. Marcia froze.

"My death?" Death had blown a raspberry at her, and she had never really understood why. "You sure?"

The woman's eyes fluttered open. "Oh, yes." She nodded her head firmly. "You will be struck down by a meteorite and that will be the end of you."

Marcia stared up at the women for a moment, and then shook her head in disgust as she turned away. "Quack," she muttered under her breath as she pulled Harry along behind her. Psychics were supposed to know you were immortal! That's what being a psychic was all about, right? In essence, Marcia felt she'd been had. To be built up and then dashed on the rocks . . . Truthfully, that hadn't happened, but it _was_ a cheap anticlimax.

* * *

Marcia followed her nose to where the scent of food was strongest, and came to a halt before a framed painting of a bowl of fruit. She looked at the fruit, expecting it to move or speak, but nothing happened. It was an ordinary, still-life portrait. Thinking there was a doorway hidden behind the portrait, she tried to pry it from the wall, but it wouldn't budge. With a sigh, Marcia picked Harry up and Jumped between the portrait and the wall.

She found herself in a kitchen with four long tables and a bunch of little green men, and that was saying something considering her own lack of stature. The green men stopped and looked at her in surprise as she carried Harry over to the table and sat him on top. "We're here for breakfast," she said helpfully. "What's to eat?"

Almost instantly, the little green men eagerly rushed to supply Marcia with various fruits, vegetables, meats, and breads. She stared in wonder as the food began to pile higher and higher. Her stomach growled in happiness as her mouth watered. Harry snuffed around his pacifier and looked cross-eyed at Marcia.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." She looked at one of the little green men. "Can I please have some lukewarm, strained rice with a little bit of milk and honey?" The green man looked at Harry in wonder, his eyes straying to the lightening bolt-shaped scar. "And then I want lots of food myself. Haven't eaten since noon yesterday." Marcia knew from long experience that it was a bad thing to go so long without eating. Going without sleep wasn't a problem, but her metabolism burned at an exceedingly high rate, and there was a time when she was still fighting when she had to eat several thousand calories more than a few times a day just to maintain her energy and muscle mass. Now she was out-of-shape, having not fought since the third-to-last Great Bloody Fiasco and that was, what? Sixty years ago? Had it really been that long ago? If nothing else, the only thing she hadn't lost was her speed, and that was because if you didn't keep your strength up to fight your enemies off, you should at least be able to outrun them.

The little green man, casting an odd look to her, ran to do Marcia's bidding. She picked Harry up, sat him on the table's surface, and then sat herself on the chair next to the table and looked around curiously. The walls were plain and there were other little green men running around. Wait. That one looked like a woman. They had to breed, Marcia supposed, and they did not look like the sort of gender-changing creature that she often ran into. Not that Marcia ran into amoebas often, except for the one time the Lord of Chaos chained her to a cannon ball and dropped her into the middle of the ocean. Or maybe those weren't amoebas. (Amoebas didn't laugh at you when you were trying to chew your way through a thick cord of titanium, did they?)

Marcia was distracted from her wandering thoughts by the large plate of sausage, eggs, biscuits, and the bowl of gravy set beside her. "Yay!" She took two hasty bites, and then turned to make sure Harry's food had arrived. It had, so she alternated between giving Harry a spoonful (which he tried to spit out and then crawl down the table), and eating her food (while grabbing Harry by the tail of his little shirt and yanking him back). After much fussiness and spitting, she managed to finish her food, and then called for the fruit salad she spied across the room. After finishing two bowls of that (Marcia had extra whipped cream; fruit salads were only good if the fruit was added to the whipped cream and not the other way around), Marcia felt ready to continue her exploration of the castle.

"Where shall we go now?" she asked Harry cheerfully as she wiped his face clean of the strained rice. Harry smacked his lips and fiddled with his shirt in reply. Marcia took that as a good sign, so she grabbed him off the table and swung him to place on one hip.

Harry let loose a screech loud enough to deafen Marcia for three minutes.

"Yikes!" She checked his diaper to make sure he hadn't messed it. A little wet. Hmm. Marcia Jumped to little red wagon to fetch the needed supplies, and then Jumped back. She proceeded to change Harry's diaper on the table and ignored the looks of disgust and horror the little green men and women gave her. "You want me to change his diaper on the floor?" Marcia asked them hotly. "That's unsanitary!" Then she thought of what she said. "Forget it," she muttered as she finished. She wrinkled her nose at the dirty one, and opted to throw it away rather than save it for a later washing. And then she made a mental note to buy disposable diapers. Screw this notion of recycling and saving the planet. Marcia already knew the world was going to end in four hundred years because of people's inability to get along, not because people bought disposable diapers.

Too aware of the nasty looks the little green men cast her, Marcia beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen to the other side of the portrait. She set Harry on the little red wagon and pulled him along in a new direction. Marcia soon got lost in the gigantic castle though.

"_Now_ where are we?" she asked Harry as she looked around the long hallway and wooden doors. She tried opening the doors, but they either led to a dust-filled room, or the doors were locked. Knowing how inhospitable it was to pick locks or break down doors, Marcia refrained from her usual unorthodox behavior. Harry soon began to fuss, so Marcia stopped wandering to try and cheer him up.

Harry ignored Marcia in his misery. He refused to be cajoled by stories, funny faces, toys, and even threats of a spanking. With a sigh, Marcia folded her legs beneath herself and glowered at Harry, wondering what would happen if _she_ started to fuss. It wasn't as if anyone would try and cajole her with stories, funny faces, and toys. Most likely they would threaten to smack her around.

Dumbledore found her a few minutes later as she wondered if it was time for Harry to take a nap. Dumbledore had someone with him—a tall, lean fellow with thinning brown hair and tawny eyes. "Ah, Marcia, we were just looking for—-"

"Harry!" The man rushed past Dumbledore to fall on his knees before the little red wagon. It dipped in the air as he gripped the wagon's side. "Harry! How are you? Remember me? Uncle Remy?"

Harry stared at "Remy" with wide eyes for a moment, then reached for him with a toothless smile plastered on his face. "Harry!" The man picked Harry up and cuddled him close. Marcia glared at Harry jealously and waited to be noticed. "Oh!" The man rocked Harry joyfully; wonder bright on his face as if he hadn't expected Harry to be alive. "Oh!" Marcia sniffed. Was that a wolf she smelled? No, not quite a wolf. There was an odd mixture of feral wolf, cold silver, and the sour scent of insanity, and it made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She wasn't sure if she wanted this man holding Harry any more than the last one who smelled sour.

The man noticed Marcia in mid-rock. "Oh. Y-you must be Marcia Runes." He looked at Dumbledore for confirmation, who nodded once to say yes. The man stepped around the little red wagon where Marcia sat and fell on his knees before her. "I'm Remus Lupin. I'm a friend of James. We were best friends, actually. We hadn't talked for some time, but when I heard he was killed—-well, little Harry's alive at least."

Marcia eyed him. He wasn't bad looking, in a pale, thin-looking, odd-smelling sort of fashion. Not that she was interested, but a delicate gal like she had to take what she could find, since what she expressed an actual interest in had a nasty habit of running in the other direction, screaming nonsense about the sanctity of their bodies. "James said I could have him for my son." She tried not to sound petulant, but from the look he gave her, she probably hadn't succeeded.

"I'm not here to take him from you," Lupin said regrettably. "I'm afraid I'm not in the least suitable to be a good father for Harry or for anyone else. It's just that he's a son of a very dear friend and is I have left. There were four of us," he said in explanation as he began to rock Harry again, "who all went to school together." Anger glinted in his eyes and Marcia jerked her head from the scent of sulfur. "Two of us are dead, betrayed and killed by one who was caught and sent to jail just four hours ago." His face fell, the anger gone, as Harry patted the man's cheek and babbled in his baby tongue. "Yes, yes." He looked tenderly at Harry. "The only one left is myself."

_Why do all the cute guys have to be unstable_? Marcia wondered. Between him and the last one . . . Well, maybe this was simply a part of grief. She squirmed slightly. There was a sense of familiarity with the man that reminded her somehow of Greer. "What do you intend to do now?"

"I don't know," Lupin said mournfully. "All I can do is be a friend, I hope. I want Harry to know about his family, and I want to know you, the person who's adopting Harry." He looked at her critically. "You're not Petunia Dursley, and for that I'm grateful. But I want to know what is going on and I want to know about you." He looked at Dumbledore, who nodded again. Marcia wondered what they had discussed about her behind her back. Not that she minded, of course, because if Lupin was who he said he was, then he deserved to know what was going on as a precaution from Dumbledore. And it wasn't as if she was unused to the idea that people talked about her behind her back, anyway.

"How much do you really want to know?" Marcia asked cautiously. Lupin's eyes narrowed.

"To begin with, you smell like crow."

Marcia's own eyes narrowed, although they couldn't be seen behind her dark glasses. So Dumbledore hadn't told him . . . " 'm a crow demonling." And only those creatures with a heightened sense of smell could catch her scent; Lupin was not a full human. "And you smell of wolf," she said accusingly.

Lupin jerked back as if Marcia had struck him, a look of wild-eyed panic on his face. "What's a demonling?" he asked tersely. Marcia refused to let him change the subject.

"Why do _you_ smell like a wolf?"

He was silent for a long moment as he regarded her with fear and suspicion. He glanced at Dumbledore again, and the old man nodded once, a look of resigned encouragement upon his own wrinkled face. With a sigh, Lupin squirmed uncomfortably and mumbled, "I'm a werewolf."

Ah, almost-demon by moon magic. Marcia was ignorant with the actual properties of moon magic, beyond the fact it was extremely fickle and its power relied mostly on magnetism and water volume to have an effect. "I think we the two of us have some things to explain," she said.

Lupin nodded, more of a jerk of his head than an affirmation. "Yes."

* * *

It took three pots of tea, a dozen cookies ("Biscuits," Lupin said as he munched on one, "cookies are for Americans."), another diaper change, and two glasses of stiff brandy before Marcia had finished telling Lupin about herself, about demons, and about the family Harry was going to be adopted into (Marcia mostly quoted Ria on that, since she didn't think it would be a good idea to tell a werewolf how psychotic a family his best friend's son was getting into, and she always made a special effort to scuttle past other demons and demon-like creatures without arousing their anger). They sat together in Marcia's little suite on the overstuffed chairs, both of which were lumpy and uncomfortable. Lupin loosely held a glass of brandy in one hand, a stunned look on his face. Harry sat at his feet, babbling in his baby tongue and fiddling with the plastic toy truck Marcia gave him. Harry had chewed and slobbered on it, banged it against the floor, and was now trying to pry it apart. Marcia watched him closely, wondering if he was going to set it on fire next and watch it melt.

"Now, your turn," Marcia said as she pointed a finger at Lupin. He took a hurried sip of the brandy and concentrated on looking and speaking at the floor.

"I was bitten as a young child." He said nothing more, and Marcia waited in the silence.

Oh, that was really helpful. "How much influence does the wolf have over your personality?" Creatures of moon magic bordered closely to demons. Their state was dependant upon the moon, which allowed them an element, but they were not runic and the element controlled them rather than the opposite, as it was for Harry. Were-creatures were usually humanoids that transformed into animals, which could have qualified them to be animalistic demons. The problem with that was, again, no control over the power. They couldn't be considered demons because demons are born, or created only with the right circumstances in combination with the right genes. And you certainly didn't need the right genes to become a were-creature.

Lupin's grip around his glass tightened. "Only during the full moon, when I become a werewolf." He smiled weakly. "And I may feel a little short-tempered a few days before the full moon, when the wolf becomes, er, becomes agitated."

Harry was a typical case of a runic demonling's genes being triggered; the demon genes destroyed the human genes and reconstructed the body. Marcia understood the reconstruction to be a painful process, but it must have happened for Harry in the firestorm. Under most circumstances, animal demons were never powerful enough to morph from one nature into the other. Like Marcia, most animal demons stayed in their humanoid form. Of all the animal demons Marcia knew, three were knowledgeable and powerful enough to morph, and one of them probably didn't count.

Were-creatures, in their were form, had strength that matched a fifth-class demon's, so they weren't particularly powerful creatures. Marcia knew she could hold her own against them, so long as she wasn't bitten.

"What are the chances of your biting Harry?"

Lupin gave her a look of how clearly insulted he felt to be asked that, and how much he utterly feared of doing just that.

"Okay." She could see the odds of Lupin biting Harry was about the same size as her forgetting Harry in the supermarket, if she ever had to take him to a supermarket. Or maybe that wasn't the best of comparisons. "Um. I'd like Harry to have a relationship with you because, uh, you are James' best friend and I think that it would be a good idea so Harry knows about his family." Marcia frowned. "So who's this here Petunia that people keep mentioning?"

Lupin shuddered. "Believe me," he said weakly as he pressed one hand against his forehead, "Harry is _much_ better off with you than Petunia."

That bad, huh? "Why?"

"Petunia is a Muggle and—"

There was _that_ word again. "What's a Muggle?"

Lupin gave her another odd look. This one looked like I-can't-believe-you-don't-know-what-Muggles-are— so-how-long-have-you-been-living-in-the-wood-work. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the look disappeared. "Oh. You _aren't_ from around here."

"You think?" she asked dryly. She had only spent the past few hours explaining what she was and where she came from.

"I keep forgetting. A Muggle is someone who doesn't have magic, and wasn't born from a wizarding family. But I don't know what to make of you then, except you aren't human. I just — just. Damn!" Lupin placed his glass of brandy on the floor beside Harry and rubbed his eyes. Harry stopped prying the tires from his little toy truck to eye the glass of brandy with interest. "I've been awake for the last thirty hours and I can barely think; it's like a nightmare that just won't end. On one hand, Voldemort is gone. And I — I'm a werewolf and everyone thought, because I'm a dark creature, I was helping Voldemort slaughter people left and right. I wasn't. I could never, ever, hurt anyone like that."

Marcia, smelling sorrow, grief, and guilt, sighed and steeled herself for a period of angst and wallowing in self-pity. She plastered a sympathetic smile on her face and began to nod. She was all ears and perfectly willing "to be there" for this person.

"On the other hand, two of my three friends are dead and the third, the one who betrayed them, has gone crazy and is in Azkaban now." Lupin's eyes were haunted as he regarded Marcia. "Good god. They thought _I_ had betrayed them to Voldemort. One, maybe two friends died thinking that. All that is left is Harry, and there's nothing I can do about it."

From here, Marcia could see three different paths to take. On one path, she could continue to allow Lupin to angst, and then she'd have to offer him therapeutic sex (not, mind you, that Maria wouldn't mind it, but she had no idea where Lupin had been and she didn't know if sex in a British boarding school was against the rules, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea to try first and then ask later). On the second path, Marcia could offer Lupin more wine, he would get slopping drunk, pass out on her couch, and then wake up the next day with a hangover and feel angsty about _that_ (Marcia didn't think that letting Harry see a grown man get drunk was a very good influence anyway). On the third path, Marcia could tactfully send Lupin off home to bed.

With a sigh, Marcia went for the safest course of actions. "You know, I think you should just go home and get some sleep. You're not doing anyone or anything any good by staying up like this. Don't want you tripping down the stairs in your fatigue, breaking your neck, and dying before Harry learns anything productive about his parents from someone who knew them."

Lupin tiredly nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose you're right."

Marcia gave him a cheeky smile. "Course I am."

He stood up and made his way to the door before freezing and turning about to give her an accusing scowl. "Wait. You aren't just trying to get rid of me, are you?"

"It's either that or the sex," Marcia said without thinking. She slapped a hand over her mouth when she realized.

Lupin stared at her like a deer caught in headlights. "I think I really need sleep," he said finally as he pressed his hand against his forehead. "I'm starting to hear things." He eyed her, not quite believing though that what he heard was a product of sleep-deprivation.

Marcia vigorously nodded her head. "Yes. Yes. Everything will begin to look up after a good night's sleep." She herded him out of her suite and closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief. "Good grief," she muttered as she slumped backwards against the door. After some thought, she said to Harry (who had grabbed the glass of brandy and held it close to himself, sloshing the amber liquid about), "I bet he'd accepted if I were taller."

Harry ignored Marcia as he set the brandy on fire.

* * *

Marcia was bored.

She had beaten out Harry's flames with the closest thing in reach — a stuffed teddy bear that looked like it may have belonged to Patches, since it was missing an ear and a paw, as well as both eyes, and half the stuffing — and Harry had not been too happy about it. He fussed at the loss of his fire, and then fussed when "Remy" wasn't around to soothe him. After searching the room for the werewolf, Harry plopped himself down on the floor and wailed his misery. It took Marcia an hour to calm his fussiness, but even then it had taken some applesauce and cottage cheese. After some time of being calm, Harry fussed again and Marcia was unsuccessful in her next attempts. Especially after he threw the bowl of cottage cheese and nailed her in the nose with it.

Dumbledore stopped by the suite to inquire after Marcia's activities, managed to sooth Harry, and then left to attend students. Harry remained quiet after the soothing, but then became morose and depressed with Dumbledore gone. No amount of playing would make him smile or laugh. After an effort of trying, Marcia finally gave him a bottle and set him on her bed, where he swiftly fell asleep with the bottle clung closely to his chest.

With Harry asleep, Marcia decided that this was the perfect time to get some paperwork done. There was still no word yet of when the social worker was going to arrive or if Marcia was supposed to go anywhere, and no one expected Marcia to do anything. Since Harry was going to be Marcia's adopted son, she was going to have to make arrangements for people to better train Harry than she could. Turk would be best, since he had trained Marcia and she knew he was as patient and understanding with difficult students, since all twelve of his children had been difficult children (most of them had attention spans of a gnat, except Patches and Nandin and Everett, all of whom took their fighting a little too seriously). However, he had his own kingdom to run and his own watch against the Lord of Chaos. With a resigned sigh, Marcia mentally reviewed her brothers and sisters.

Definitely not Patches. Marcia and Ambrose had cheerfully gotten her drunk one night on a full gallon of hard apple cider, and they both learned there were three groups of people who, in Patches' opinion, existed. The first group was the group she worked to kill or get rid; this took some doing and a fair bit of skill, since the group she worked to kill or get rid of were ghosts. The second group was the group she let live because they were too much trouble to kill (her parents fell into this category, sadly enough). The third group was the group she killed because they irritated her. Marcia fell into the last group, but Patches had given up on trying to kill her after she realized that Marcia simply _wouldn't_ die.

Claudia and Molly were out of the question. Like all of Turk and Ria's children, they had learned how to fight. However, they learned only enough to defend themselves against the average human, which was pathetic at best should they have to fight demons. The only thing they were good at was running, but Marcia could teach that to Harry well enough on her own without help, thank you very much.

Nandin would be a good instructor once Harry was past six or seven and already knew the basics of fighting. Nandin had little patience for beginners, as Marcia was all too aware. However, that would only work if Harry's temperament wasn't influenced by his runic nature. Marcia had a sneaking suspicion that placing a touchy fire demon and a cranky cat demon in a closed room together was a sure-fire formula for disaster.

Hestia would probably be a good instructor, if her ribbons didn't unravel. She had split personalities that somehow manifested themselves physically if she didn't wear the green and pink ribbons the Lord of Chaos gave her. Marcia wasn't sure how that happened, but she didn't want Hestia and her various split personalities running amok. Between the queer ballerina and the caffeine-addicted nerd with an affinity for porn . . .

Seraph and Rufus hadn't taken baths in only the Lord of Chaos knew how long. Marcia had no intention of standing downwind of them if she could help it, and Harry was far too young to be subjected to such a traumatic experience. If they ever had the perchance of being shoved into a large body of water, they would make good teachers.

Everett wouldn't be a bad instructor, except she dressed obscenely and would probably be a bad influence on Harry too.

Actually, Marcia thought with a grimace, all of her brothers and sisters would be a bad influence on Harry. So would she, for that matter, but one bad influence would have to do. And then another frightful thought occurred to her—-what if they all came to Hogwarts to meet Harry? It wouldn't take much. All Ria had to do was make mention of it to someone, and then everyone would flock over to see the newest addition to the Runesking family. (Marcia entertained a grotesque vision of Hogwarts collapsing into a pile of misshapen rubble and clouds of dust as little stick figures stood around and stared in amazement and horror, all because a few of her siblings destroyed the place. And then she shuddered and made a mental note to visit family before they learned about Harry from a different source.)

It would have to be Ambrose. He was patient, well-versed in explaining complex things in simple terms, and actually liked children. Except Ambrose had the misfortunate habit of darting off in the opposite direction every time he saw Marcia (and being the youngest of twelve children meant he had to either learn how to fend himself or how to outrun his many older siblings, so he learned how to do both), so she was going to have to hide behind a stairwell or potted plant and ambush him when he least expected it.

Ah, Harry was too young to begin his training anyway. What Marcia _really_ needed to do was contact the Inter-universal Dimension-hopping Licensee Office. She had been in this non-native dimension for more than twenty-four hours, and she needed to fill out the paperwork that permitted her an indefinite stay. As long as she was at the Inter-universal Offices, she may as well stop by the Registrar for New Aliens where she could get Harry approved for space-travel. Earth was a seventh-ranking planet; as far as the Inter-universal Organization of Unification was concerned, Aliens could not travel to or from the planet or make contact with any of its occupants. The IDLO would be furious to know where she was staying, but that couldn't be helped. As a D-hopper, Marcia had the right to go anywhere; it came with the title and even said so on her license. Harry, as her son, would have the rights too.

Marcia entertained happy visions of Harry seated on her lap as they flew through the endless skies in her little Cricket Z60-Wemplington (1). They could visit the Moon or Mars, or maybe that cute little star with the springy cloud-like surface and the best-tasting Pina Coladas she had ever had. She hugged herself and smiled at the thought.

But first things were first. She had to register Harry as a new Alien, and then get him a dimension-hopping license. Before she could do that, she had to go back to Winter's Ambit to get the Super Cooper, and maybe her little Cricket.

Marcia looked around the room. Hmmm. No electrical outlets. Damn. Another medieval place. She had thought it was possible for electricity since Hogwarts had running water and working toilets (which was a lot more than what could be said for Winter's Ambit). It was bad enough that she had to freeze her bum sitting on the very top of Ria's highest tower so the Super Cooper could get enough sunlight needed for the solar-powered battery to operate.

"Don't you people know anything about the wonders of modern marvels?" Marcia yelled at no one in particular.

Harry snapped awake with a jerk and a small cry. He looked around in confusion, and then wailed.

Marcia sighed and tried to appease him with his bottle. He continued to wail, and flames spurted around his hands. Marcia yanked him off the bed, carried him over to the empty fireplace, and roughly sat him down on the stone. Harry stopped in mid-wail, too surprised to scream. Marcia yanked her smoldering blanket off the bed and stuffed it into the fireplace.

"There!" She pointed a finger at it. "Entertain yourself with that, but don't be making fire just because you're mad at me." She shook the finger at Harry. "That's a bad, bad thing to do." Harry sniffled, and then reached out to the blanket. Without looking at Marcia, he snuggled against them.

"Ahhh." Marcia grinned. "How cute!" She reached out to pat Harry on the head. Flames exploded around Harry with a woosh and a wave of heat that pushed Marcia backwards. There was a scent of burning hair in the air, and Marcia had a feeling it was her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. Harry remained snuggled in the burning blanket, fire wrapped around himself. He cooed softly and drooled as he drifted asleep. Marcia blinked in surprise.

If she had known all it would have taken to calm Harry down was to stuff him into the fireplace, she'd have done it sooner.

* * *

(1) Marcia's Cricket is the state-of-the-art twenty-man pleasure shuttle she hijacked many years ago (or, perhaps more aptly said, many years to come since it was a random venture in the future). She has made it into quite the little weapon by adding no less than two thousand different gadgets, do-hickeys, and gizmos that are all spectacular in their manner in blowing up, dismembering, and sabotaging targets. It has an AI that answers to the name of Slinky; the AI is sassy, has foul language programmed to it in such a manner that it threatens to release a virus on every computer within a light year's distance should she try to dismantle it, and has been known to download fourth-dimensional furry porn. Marcia is quite proud of her Cricket despite the AI, since it is the most advanced thing in the Universe and will continue to be so for the next six hundred years (she checked). 


	4. Bonus: The Obscene Skit

Well, since there have been people who've expressed concern regarding the lengthy time between the last time I posted a chapter and this time, I decided to add this little note and cute little bonus. This is because the chapter I'm writing is taking a little longer (well, okay, _much_ longer) than expected, and I was feeling a little guilty. ;; Bear with me regarding this author's note, because the part of the story that I've added is a jump out of the current timeline, and you won't understand what's going on or the characters in it without the background I'm going to give you. 

This is also for those few people who think the current storyline is dragging and Harry as a baby interested only in his toes and setting things on fire is boring. So, we shall skip ahead to when Harry is four, which will happen when what I call the Adoption Arc is finished. Marcia, having adopted Harry, decides to work in the wizarding world. She wants to get to know more about the people and the culture within a different context, and it's not as if she has anything better to do anyway except be a stay-at-home with Harry. She is given a job of working with what the wizarding world considers "halfling bastards."

During Voldemort's reign of six years, all the dark creatures working under him went on various pillages and rapes and all that other sort of stuff that dark forces unleashed on the world tend to do when they aren't permitted to kill. It was until the first wave of half-trolls, half-vampires (dhampire), half-sprites/mermen were seen in various Muggle OB ward did the wizarding world knew what was happening. Because some special interest groups felt that there had been enough killings, they had the Ministry take the halflings alive and place them in wizarding homes to be raised after erasing various memories and records. This didn't quite work, and many of the unruly halflings wound up in orphanages and group homes. There's a lot of kinks in this idea at this point because it is incredibly condensed.

Marcia decided to work with children, because she reasoned that would be the perfect opportunity to keep Harry with her and still be able to work (and besides, Harry didn't have many friends and this was, again, the perfect opportunity). When a group home woman came across Marcia's application at an employment office, she immediately hired Marcia because Marcia was infamous as a demonling, being Harry Potter's mother, and figured that Marcia could handle an unruly bunch of halfling bastards that needed to get out of their group home into the real world. The woman pulled some strings and had the Wizarding Troops (think boy/girl scout troops) make a special category for the halflings so Marcia could become their troop leader. Thus, Marcia wound up with a small group of halflings, and she called the troop "Halflings." It seemed like a good idea at the time to her. Oh, and Harry became the mascot. (Just for the record, the bonus scene coming up is what actually spawned the entire Fire Demon story, and I wrote this before I wrote the first chapter. Cherish it as I have. Yes; I know I'm cheap and the lot of you would much rather have the next chapter. I'd prefer give you a bonus up to par with my writing skills and standard to inform you that yes, I am working on Fire Demon and I'm still around, rather than a crappy next chapter that I would have no satisfaction for and would take me another month to rewrite.)

This actually becomes a grand period of time for Harry, because he makes friends for the first time and meets other wizarding children that he will later go to school with--Draco and Ron, just to name two. By now, the readers are fairly familiar with Marcia's character. Heh. This will be interesting. Now, I'm going to finish up with a brief character sketch on the Halfings.

**Dimitri:** Dhampire; the eldest of the Halflings at nine years. Is stubborn and bossy, doesn't like Marcia, and constantly fights her authority--and usually wins. male  
**Maurice:** Also dhampire. Has buck teeth and usually follows Dimitri's lead. Quiet, poor self-esteem, whines a lot. male  
**Odie:** Half troll that's always hungry. Is clumsy and short-tempered, but has an IQ of 200 and intellectually chases circles around Marcia. male  
**Ignace (Iggy)**: Half-wood sprite who has literally fallen in love with Marcia and intends to marry her when he grows up; has severe attachment problems and is jealous of Harry. Usually hits Harry, but will get burned for it. male  
**Rosemary:** Half-wood sprite who is generally compliant and goes along with whatever anyone tells her. Has no sense of time or direction, and tends to get lost very easily. female  
**Penny:** Not a true halfling; just a pixie who got lost in the shuffle and is tiny, shy, and browbeaten by everyone except Harry who likes to give her his tootsie rolls. female  
**Beatrice (Beezy):** Mutt that turns human on full moons. Generally runs, slobbers, and is a happy, happy dog whose bite doesn't affect anyone. Very confused when human and dashes around naked. female  
**Trinity:** Half-water sprite who easily gets sunburned. Loud and foulmouthed, outgoing, and also whines a lot. Has a photographic memory that will recall every single one of Marcia's faults, problems, words, sayings, and overall ineptness. Has taken Rosemary, Penny, and Harry under her wing as a surrogate mother of some sort. female  
**Eddy:** Genetic accident of some sort that Marcia hadn't quite finished mapping the DNA of. Usually silent, stays hidden under a mantle where no one can see his green skin, webbed hands, mismatched eyes, and wide forehead. male

* * *

Marcia stepped back and surveyed her littles, who all stood in line before her. Dimitri, wearing a suit of green with a large F in white plastered on his chest, glared back defiantly and showed his teeth. She ignored how his canines had lowered slightly, a sign of his aggravation. Rosemary squirmed in her shoes and played with the ribbons in her hair. Marcia had tried to brush it earlier, but after she broke the handles of two brushes and lost the third amongst the crinkly, moss-like hair, she just tied some random pink ribbons into Rosemary's hair and called it good. Like Dimitri, Rosemary wore a suit of green, but this one had a C on the front. Standing beside her was Harry, a K on the chest of his suit of purple and a small brown cap on his wild black hair. He watched Marcia expectedly. At the very end of the row was Penny. Her nose was running again so she wiped it with the sleeve of her suit of purple. She had a U taped crookedly to her chest, reminiscent of Marcia's hack job of trying to convert V into U, slightly stained with mustard. Marcia grabbed the bottle of whiteout that she had tucked in her pocket and quickly dabbed it over the mustard stain. "There!" Marcia smiled and placed her hands on her hips. "You all look so adorable!"

Dimitri continued to glare at Marcia and Penny wiped her nose.

"Now, remember, you're exactly how I want you lined up. Unity is the root," Marcia patted Harry; he repositioned his hat when she lifted her hand from his head, "which is followed by Kindred and Caring, and together, these three make up Friendship." She turned her palms up and gestured toward Dimitri, who hissed at her. She drew her hands back before he tried to bite her. "Don't forget your songs, and bloody Chaos, Penny, don't lisp!"

"Yeth, ma'am."

Marcia ignored Penny as she hurried off the backstage. "I'll be right back," she told the other Halflings, who were all complacently sitting together in a circle offstage, their back to the audience as they busied themselves with the new word game Trinity was teaching them (Marcia briefly wondered what sort of new words she was going to have to deprogram, but as long as the littles were quiet and kept the words to themselves until they were too old to spank for swearing, she wouldn't worry). She tripped over feet, stepped on knees, and stumbled back to her seat in the middle of the audience, blithely ignoring the dirty looks the other parents gave her. Narcissa's troop, the Purebloods, were just finishing their skit on, unsurprisingly, the Properties of Purity.

"Like a virgin!" Draco sang loudly in a squeaky, monotone voice as the other troop's children, all lined up behind Draco, sang an Alleluia chorus just loud enough to make a painful attempt at drowning out Draco's voice. Marcia turned him out with the ease of someone long-experienced at ignoring their immediate environment. She craned her neck and stood on her chair to look over the heads of the audience. Parents sitting behind her hissed and swore at her to sit down. Some popcorn and candy corn bounced off the back of her head. She ignored that too. At the very side of the stage, Snape resolutely doodled on his judge's clipboard, ignoring Draco just as Marcia was. Dumbledore shifted his eyes from watching Draco with avid interest to watching Narcissa (who clung to the front of the stage and watched Draco with wide, adoring eyes as she mouthed the words she had composed) with avid interest. Rindall watched Draco with her lips pressed together, a slightly disapproving look on her face.

Frankly, Marcia didn't see the point in the skit. When the children finished and ushered off the stage to the polite clapping of the audience, the three judges held up their scores on the large white cards. Dumbledore's was 7, Rindall's was 7, and Snape's was 3. Narcissa booed at Snape, who ignored her and went back to his doodling as Dumbledore announced the Halflings.

* * *

"I don't think we should go out the way Leader wants us to," Dimitri said, a devious glint in his eyes. "Let's go shortest to tallest. So Harry's first, just as Leader wants, and then Rosemary? You go next."

Rosemary looked at herself. The only one taller than her was Dimitri. "But Penny's shorter than me," she pointed out.

Dimitri waved her logic away. "You're also younger."

"No, I'm not."

Dimitri gave her a chilling look. "Yes, you are."

"But--" Dimitri wordlessly hissed at her and she flinched back. He took a step back from her and crossed his arms to wait, so Rosemary meekly moved to stand between Penny and Harry. Dimitri looked at their ranks.

"Hmm. Perfect." He smiled, more a show of teeth than anything else, and glanced over. "And we're ready to go on as soon as the Bloody Brats are off." They waited long enough for Draco to trip down the stairs and burst into tears just as they entered onstage. The audience ignored them in favor of watching Narcissa baby Draco, planting kisses on the scratched knee and hands, and offering him treats to "make it all better."

It wasn't until the Halflings were out on stage and singing their skit's song did the watching crowd notice.

All: _Lalalalala! We are friiiieeeends! We looooove each other!_

Despite how their voices were not monotone squeaks, as Draco's singing had been, all four children were out of sync and out of rhythm with one another. Still, it wasn't the singing that made a gasp of scandalized shock rise from the watching audience of wizarding parents, grandparents, and children too young/old to belong in the troops.

All: _Friendshiiiip is aboooouuut--_

There was a long pause as all four of them looked at the ornamental F on the front of Dimitri's shirt.

Dimitri: _Friendshiiiip is an accumulation, assimilation, of all these following characteristiiiiiics!_

Marcia slapped a hand over her face and sunk down in her chair, all too aware of the looks people were casting her. If looks could kill, there would be colossal issues concerning weapons of mass destruction at the hands of wizards and witches of whose ilk had never been seen before outside the doings of the Lord of Chaos.

All: _Frienshiiiip is abooooouuut--_

Penny: _UUUUNIIITTTYYYY!_

Rosemary: _CARRRIIINNNG!_

Harry: . . . um (he turned to Rosemary and tugged on her sleeve, "What was my line again?")

(Rosemary prodded Harry and hissed, "Kindness, Harry, Kindness.)

Snape choked, coughed conveniently for a few seconds, and then with a shake of his head that seemed to say, _Ah, forget it_, burst out in a fit of sadistic laughter. Dumbledore folded his fingers into a bridge and rested his chin on it, watching the skit with the same seriousness that he had regarded those performed earlier by other troops.

Harry: … kindness . . .

Marcia wished the Lord of Chaos would just yank her into a dimension far from here for the next thirty years. She'd even take the one with the cannibalistic munchkins. (A small part of her grated her teeth at the fact that Harry was supposed to say, "Kindred," but she supposed that ought to be the last of her worries.)

"BUAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!"

Dimitri: _We are friends to the end! United in caring and kindness. This is what we are! All together now!_

All: _Lalalalalala! Lalalalalala! Lalalalalala Hey nanny nanny hey!_

The children began to move their legs up and down, linking arms together and stepping in place to their personal rhythms. Harry anxiously scanned the crowd for his mother, who was desperately pretending not to be their leader. She had a vague feeling of how others felt about her; but then payback is always a harsh bitch. Dimitri stopped stepping his pace and spread his arms wide.

Dimitri_: F!_

The others followed in suit, with Harry watching the others for his cue.

Penny: _U!_

Rosemary: _C!_

Harry: . . . uh, k?

All (while swinging their arms and barely escaping from whacking one another in the face): _That is friendshiiiiiiip!_

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

With their skit now finished, the children turned and marched off the stage. Slowly, the judges held up their scores. Dumbledore ranked the Halflings with a 5, a very scandalized Rinall a 3. Slowly, still shaking with laughter and tears filling his eyes, Snape slowly held up his score.

10.

"What!" Narcissa leapt to her feet. "That's an outrage! It was obscene!"

_Yes_, Marcia thought, given the context of how the letters were arranged, _it was._

Somehow, she was sure that Trinity was at fault. Certainly they wouldn't have heard the word from _her_.

Snape, choking on his laughter, barely managed to reply. "It (hahahaha!!) was scored (hahahahahahaha!!) on creat-(hahahaha!!)-creativity! HAHAHAHAHAHA! 'This is friendship!' I love it!"

Once more aware of the looks being directed to her, Marcia had a feeling this whole mess was going to live as long as she.

Damn, but that was a long time.

Credits go as following: **Saturday Night Live** for their skit on using the acronym F-C-K-U (you people arrange them as you will) to have a double innuendo. I haven't seen the actual skit myself since I'm not a great fan of most American television - I just went off what my brother babbled one night when he had drink four too many beers.  
**Troop Beverly Hills** for the whole idea of a deranged boy/girl scout troop, whose rivals tend to think of themselves as the perfect troop. This is a movie with Shirley Long (? I believe; it's been a terribly long time since I saw it) and I absolutely recommend it to anyone who hasn't seen it.


	5. Chapter Four: Process of Adoption

Marcia set about making a list of the various things that she needed to do, discovered she had nothing to write with, and considered waking Harry up so she wouldn't leave him alone. As easily as she had considered it, Marcia dismissed the idea. Harry was cranky and needed his sleep; she, on the other hand, needed a baby sitter. But she just couldn't go searching for someone because that would mean leaving Harry alone, and Marcia already knew how volatile Harry became when he was upset. Not, she suspected, that Harry would particularly mind if she did disappear, but someone had to change his diapers and feed him on demand, and she didn't exactly see people falling over themselves to do just that. (Ignoring, of course, the fact that Harry was now the "savior" that Bill, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and James had all said, but she avoided that point because old habits tended to die slow, difficult deaths that usually resulted in reincarnations or resurrections.)

Still, the last thing she needed was his burning Hogwarts down - even it was supposedly impossible for a castle of stone to burn, but stone had this peculiar ability to melt at high enough temperatures, and she had no idea how hot Harry's flames could become, especially after the whole blowing up What's-His-Name. And if Patches could do it, then so could Harry.

This called for drastic measures.

Ordinarily, Marcia was not the sort to sleep. Sleep was a waste of time because there was so much that could be done in the four or five hours she actually managed to do it in. She freely admitted that creatures needed sleep, but she didn't think she usually did. Why, she just seemed to get more high-strung and chipper the longer she stayed awake! Indeed, with all the grumpy people she saw, Marcia often wondered why more people didn't stay up longer. It would help their moods immensely.

Left to her own devices, Marcia doodled invisible doodles on the wall as she plotted and thought of what she was going to do. Should she work with wizards first, or should she apply for the needed alien licenses? So many decisions. If she applied for the licenses, Harry would be better off with someone taking care of him because space travel did odd things to a baby's digestion; Marcia had a sneaking suspicion that few family members had the qualifications of a good babysitter and the time to spare.

Hours passed until Harry finally awoke, and by which time, Marcia already had a plan formulated. His flames were snuffed out as he yawned and rubbed his eyes. He glanced around the room before his gaze finally settled on Marcia. He studied her for a long moment. "Mmm."

"Are you hungry?" Harry didn't answer. He crawled out of the fireplace and looked around.

"Mum? Da?" Marcia stood up and watched him for a moment as he searched the room. He lifted the corner of the bed's blankets and peered under the bed. "Mum?" He looked at Marcia and his lower lip began to tremble.

"Uh oh. Neh, Harry, it's all right!" Marcia swooped down upon Harry and snatched him up in her arms. He let loose a shriek that nearly burst her eardrum. "Ach!"

"WAAAAAAHHHHHH!!"

Marcia held Harry at arm's length as she turned her aching ear away from him. She winced as he shrieked again and kicked, landing a solid hit against her breastbone. "Hey! I don't have any padding to protect me!"

"WAAAAAAHHHHHH!!"

"ACH!" Flames erupted around Harry's body, and Marcia's long sleeves caught on fire. She placed Harry firmly on the stone floor and beat at her burning sleeves with her hands, but the flames wrapped firmly around her hands. Her eyes watered from the smoke and pain as her skin blistered from the fire; she tore her overshirt off and dropped it on top of Harry. The flames went out and his cries trailed off into stunned silence. He pulled the shirt off and looked at Marcia with an expression of hurt. He shuffled his bottom uncomfortably and her attention shifted to it immediately.

"Oooh! You need a diaper change!" Marcia would have smacked her forehead, except the skin on the inside of her hands was red and blistering. "Poor thing." Marcia walked over to the wagon where all the supplies were kept, but stopped when someone on the other side of her door knocked loudly. "Come in." The door creaked open, and Dumbledore stuck his head through.

"Ah, Miss Runes, am I interrupting anything important?" he asked. He bowed his head and looked at Marcia over the rim of his glasses. Ignoring the fact she wore her white undershirt, Marcia laughed nervously and shook her head.

"Nah. Just another moment with Harry. Gotta change his diaper," she added amiably as she carefully reached for plastic bag that contained them. Dumbledore pushed the door wider.

"There are some people who would like to speak with you."

Marcia used her elbows to shuffle through the wagon's contents until she came up with a little baggie of baby powder-scented wipes. She gingerly picked up the corner of it with two fingers. "Me?"

"Yes." He stepped into the room and away from the door. Three other people clambered closely behind the old wizard. "A member of the Ministry, a social service worker, and a reporter. They all want to know about Harry and how he killed You-Know-Who, and what you have to do with it and Harry."

"Me?" Marcia blinked in confusion as the three people pushed past Dumbledore and rushed headlong through the room to Harry. Marcia Jumped to Dumbledore's side to avoid being trampled, ignored the searching look he cast her over the frames of his glasses, and stared in disbelief at her visitors as they pushed, shoved, and otherwise fought to be the first to reach Harry.

"Out of my way!" A little round woman with a childlike voice and large glasses managed to push to the forefront, only to be yanked backwards by the back of her cloak by a scruffy-looking man with bushy brown hair and thick eyebrows and a camera hanging from his neck by a thick brown strap.

"Me first!"

The third man, a stiff-looking elderly gentleman with threads of silver entwined in otherwise dark brown hair, quickly followed after the other two, eager as they to see Harry, but more controlled. The first two fell to their knees before Harry in something twisted and akin to worship. In awe, they stared at Harry with open mouths and wide eyes.

Harry looked up from where he had been playing with the burning fabric of Marcia's shirt.

"So this is him!" The woman was the first to recover from her awe; she adjusted her glasses and stared at Harry critically. "Humph. What's this?" She poked Harry's scar. Beneath her touch, it flared bright red. Harry tottered backwards and burst out with a loud scream as flames leapt up and wrapped around his form. He hugged Marcia's burning shirt closer to him and he reached one chubby hand out to Marcia's direction, sobbing.

Marcia Jumped to Harry's side with the diapers and wipes as the others fell back in shock and horror at the flames. "He doesn't like his scar being touched," Marcia said, barely able to hide her own confusion. _Harry's scar never did that with me, Lupin, Dumbledore, or Billy,_ she thought warily. She sat beside Harry, the warmth of his flames making her own burns hurt more than they should. The burns would heal within a few hours without scarring, but they still hurt presently. "It's okay, baby," she said soothingly, carefully petting and rubbing the stone floor beside Harry. His flames went out with a whoosh, as if doused by cold water, and he hurried crawled over to Marcia to hug himself close to her body. He stared at the round woman with hurt and fear, and then turned to press his face into Marcia's stomach.

"I see." The woman coldly glared at Harry, her awe gone as if it had never existed. Taking the opportunity as it was presented to her, Marcia laid Harry down on his back and proceeded to change his diaper, moving carefully so she wouldn't pop any blisters or alarm Harry.

The scruffy-looking man, his dark brown eyes sparkling with excitement, fumbled hurriedly with his camera, the quill pens in his pockets, and the rolls of paper tucked inside his shirt. He spilled the pens, nearly tore the paper, and got his arm tangled into his camera's sling. "Is this the same magic that killed You-Know-Who?"

"Who?" Marcia asked absently as she stared suspiciously at the quill pen as it hovered over the paper. The scruffy-looking man paid it no heed.

"The child."

"Harry Potter. I'm going to adopt him as my son." Marcia caught the flash of disapproval across the woman's face and hurried on. "His father said I could." She glanced back at the pen; it was scribbling on the paper as fast as it could. "Who're you three?" She finished Harry's diaper, tossed the used one across the room to the garbage, and then carried Harry over to the wagon. Since she had visitors, Harry needed clothes. She selected a pair of pajamas with a green frog print and tried to dress Harry. He squirmed in her hands (bothersome; ouch!) and tried to hide his face against Marcia's diminutive chest.

"I'm Louis Adams," the scruffy-looking man said proudly, holding his hand out to Marcia. She fought one arm free of the tangle of pajamas and clinging Harry to shake it, grateful to be treated as a short adult rather than as a child. "I'm a reporter from the Daily Owl, and I'm doing the article on You-Know-Who's defeat."

"What's-His-Name?"

He nodded his head, not really noticing what Marcia had said as he focused his attention on Harry. "Because the strongest Dark Lord of our time was defeated by him. A little baby. Professor Dumbledore said he was a demon?" He looked at Marcia for confirmation. Her line of vision had strayed to the woman, who was frowning again partly in thought and partly in disapproval. There was a dark force of Chaos slowly wrapping its malevolent tendrils around the woman's pudgy form.

Marcia cringed and flinched backwards, her eyes darting to the shadows. _Uh oh._ Who told _Him_ she was here?

"I," said the elder man with the stiff dignity, "am Mortimer Bires." He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Demons are dark creatures."

The woman nodded her head emphatically, her lips pressed together into a single, thin line, and the Chaos wrapped around her pulsed as if gaining life. Marcia found herself edging backwards from it, repulsed by the putrid scents of brimstone and rotting flesh. Harry peeked toward the woman and then buried his face in Marcia's chest with another cry of fright and Marcia absently dropped a hand on the top of his head.

Marcia categorized Chaos and Order into scents; rarely did they actually extend into her field of vision - unless the Lord of Chaos was personally involved. For the woman's Chaos to manifest itself as _both _a scent and a sight… "And you?" she asked the woman finally. "Do you have a name?"

The woman studied Marcia for a moment before she smiled, revealing little round teeth. The Chaos wrapped around her faded slightly from the smile, and the woman's voice, high pitched and light like a child's, pushed the Chaos away even further. "I am Dolores Umbridge. I was transferred from my office to cover the shortage of social workers from the Ministry of Magic. I've been sent to address this issue of adoption." She pressed her lips together in thought for a moment before adding, "Without meaning to sound rude, I wish to inquire after your age. There are certain factors involved with age; sometimes a person is too old or too young." Her eyes widened as she spoke, and she cocked her head to the side. "And, also, there is the small issue regarding yourself. As had the others, I heard from Professor Dumbledore that you are a, ah, demon. We may not permit one such as yourself to adopt the savior of the wizarding world." There was a touch of scorn in her last words, almost too soft for Marcia to recognize. But for the Chaos that responded well to it, Marcia wouldn't have noticed.

Marcia's eyes traveled to the shadows of the room. She could feel a sense of foreboding, of something waiting for the right moment or situation to occur. It made her feel uneasy and she found it difficult to concentrate as well as she should. As she glanced from shadow to shadow and pressed Harry closer to herself, she mentally calculated her age and wondered how to introduce it. " 'm not really a demon," she said finally. Her eyes fell upon the quill, scribbling madly at the paper. " 'm a demonling. Theoretically, I'm completely and fully human, except for some dispositions inherited through a statistical error of chances."

They blinked at her in puzzlement, and she sighed. That was the last time she ever tried quoting Nandin. "Make yourself comfortable," Marcia said. "Explaining this is going to take a while a good lot of cookies. Have a seat," she waved her hand at the sofas and stuffed cushions, "make yourself comfortable."

("These, my dear," Bires said gruffly when Marcia paused in mid-explanation of the differences between rune demons and animals demons, "are biscuits. Are you American, by any chance?"

"No. Shaktian," Marcia replied openly, since she had always affiliated her ethnicity with the environment she had spent most of her corrupted youth, but only received puzzled glances from her audience.)

"So my age really has no consequence in this whole affair of adoption," Marcia finished, "because the levels of aging and maturity between demonlings, demons, and humans are quite different." She stopped and looked at the quill again. It was still scribbling madly away at the paper; she briefly wondered where she could get such a nifty automatic note-taking quill for Ria (it would be a birthday present that she was sure Ria would forgive Marcia in regards to that rather hectic disaster concerning the toad, Patches, Ambrose, half a dozen candles, and three and a half gallons of hard apple cider . . . At least, Marcia thought that was what happened; it was still all sort of fuzzy in her mind). "Any questions?"

"Oh! Oh! Me! Me!" Adams waved his hand excitedly in the air, bouncing up and down on his stool like a hyper little boy. Dumbledore had left the three visitors with Marcia, citing various reasons not to be present, all of which concerned teachers and rambunctious children. Umbridge and Bires had silently seated themselves in the chairs, while Adams declined the one that remained. With Marcia's permission, he transfigured one of her pillows from the bed into a high stool that allowed him to sit at a higher altitude than the two officials from the Ministry. Marcia felt out of place where she sat cross-legged on the floor, certainly being the shortest of the adults present and seated in the lowest position, and personally resented the subtle power play of the others. She tried to ignore it to the best of her ability by concentrating on entertaining Harry (which was done with one of the squeaky rubber duckies and a soft chew toy from the wagon) and telling her tale. Harry fussed until he was given a cookie to slobber on (which caused Umbridge to frown her disapproval), and her tale was now over.

"Yes?"

Adam tucked his hands between his knees and leaned forward. "You were saying earlier that demons are from Chaos while demonlings are from humans. So are demons evil and demonlings not?"

Marcia scratched her head and tried to sort through that. "Come again?"

"I think I can translate that," Bires said dryly, "and perhaps add some questions I have. You mentioned before that demons are from Chaos. I gathered, from what you've said, that this Chaos is a different region, much like your mother's kingdom. Given what you've said of demons, and how you are different from them, are the demons more inclined to being of darker and more sinister natures than demonlings?" With this question, he directed a look toward Harry that spoke of fear of something beyond Marcia's knowledge. Adam shivered and rubbed his arms, glancing quickly around the room in agitation, while Umbridge lowered her head as the taint of Chaos about her pulsated once more.

There was something Marcia was missing. "Does this have anything to do with What's-His-Name?" she asked finally. So far, this unknown man had darkness and wickedness and evil associated with himself, and Harry, a demonling bordering closely on the nature and qualities of a demon, had destroyed him. Did they fear Harry was going to be an enemy worse than What's-His-Name? What were they going to do if they perceived Harry and her as a deadly threat—-kill them?

What had What's-His-Name done to be so feared by others?

Adam sighed and crossed his arms before himself. "Yes," he said, his voice bitter and hateful, "and no. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a terrible force that awoke many sleeping dark powers in this area of the world; powers even we thought to be mythical, or believed to be extinct. There were monsters of various calibers; horrific trauma through brutal rape and pillaging and plundering."

In Marcia's experience, pillaging and plundering weren't necessarily _bad_ things (well, there was always the exception when _you_ were the one being pillaged and plundered). Except that wouldn't be the greatest thing in the world to mention right at this moment, especially when two people wanted to know if demonlings were anything like What's-His-Name. At least, she supposed that's what they were trying to ask. "Demonlings have human natures dictated by their demon blood," she said carefully. "It's what makes us different from demons, and different from humans. Think it's safe to say that demonlings can be good or bad, just like humans can be good or bad."

"That," said Umbridge firmly, "is _not_ good enough. If Harry Potter is to be as powerful as you've said, and he has destroyed the strongest dark wizard of our time when he is merely a baby, we will not accept the assurance of how he can be good _or_ bad. We _cannot_ accept that."

Marcia wiggled uncomfortably in her seat. "Can't assure you of anything else," she said. "It's not like I can lie and say, sure, he's going to be a good little demonling who can do no wrong, and that he's more like an angel dropped from heaven. It's too soon to tell at this point and time what his personality is going to be like, much less predicting if the events in his life will push him into an evil, um, manner and attitude."

Adam eagerly leaned forward and nearly toppled from his stool. "How did he kill You-Know-Who?" he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity as he studied Harry.

"Blew him up."

"Huh?"

Marcia sighed and launched into _that_ long explanation, using it as a chance to also explain the ghost of James and how he had given her Harry.

Umbridge was frowning thoughtfully by the time Marcia finished, and then she smiled suddenly, like someone approaching a person thought to be an old friend. "Any witnesses?" she asked sweetly.

Marcia could be off, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she was being out-maneuvered. Damn. What as the point of living a few centuries if you didn't pick up any viable negotiating skills? "Harry," she said finally, pointing at him. Harry looked up at the mention of his name, but when he realized he wasn't going to get another cookie, went back to exploring the rubber ducky. Umbridge frowned at Marcia's words.

"I'm afraid he's not a very reliable witness," she said softly.

"There was also James."

"So _you_ say."

Marcia wondered how she would counter that. "Well, he was a ghost," she said, too aware of how lame that sounded.

"Ah, yes. Supposedly." Umbridge nodded her head as she kept her thoughts to herself. Marcia could feel her chances slipping away like sand through parted fingers.

She liked Hogwarts. She liked the people (except for Snape, but then there's always exceptions in life), the staircases, the moving portraits, Bill and Dumbledore and Lupin. She didn't want to take Harry away from them. But there was more; Umbridge was challenging Marcia's honesty and background, both of which Marcia didn't care to be attacked, even if her honesty did tend to be questionable. "How do I prove I'm telling the truth?" she asked finally.

The quill jerked to a halt for a moment before continuing writing. Adam tensed and shifted his weight. With her heightened senses, Marcia's attention instantly zeroed in on Adam's body language. _Right angle for offense and defense, dilated pupils, hitched breathing. _ She could smell adrenaline and sulfur. But it was his eyes that drew the most attention; they were a predator's eyes, watchful and waiting, attentive, and certainty in his ability to stand his ground.

Where was the bumbling, eager, happy-go-lucky man?

Marcia tried to gather Harry closer without trying to seem obvious, but Adam's eyes flickered to her hands and his own moved slightly toward one of his pockets. With a sigh, Marcia decided to address the situation boldly. "You," she told Adam, put out with how he had deceived her into thinking he had a happy-go-lucky air about him, "have the body language of a fighter, _not_ a journalist. What do you want?" Tactful? Her? It always sounded like something you used to poke someone, anyway.

As if her words had thrown a switch, Adam's entire countenance changed. Whatever good naturalness about him melted away, giving him a very cunning, voracious stance. His eyes were narrowed and the upward tilt of his lips somehow combined sadism with cynicism and was so identical to the Lord of Chaos' expression that Marcia flinched back, grabbing Harry so tightly that he cried out.

"I see." Adam leaned forward on the stool to observe Marcia. "Interesting how you would react to my being a 'fighter' in such a manner." He gave her a mocking bow from the waist. "I am an Auror. I am commissioned to hunt down and kill Death Eaters and other followers of Voldemort." There was a warning in his eyes that should he find her to be a Death Eater, she, too, would be killed.

"_He's_ dead." Marcia eased up on her grip on Harry as he squirmed uncomfortably. She couldn't help but feel that Dumbledore had staked her at the entrance of a lion's den, and the lion was very hungry.

"So you say," Adam said lightly, "so you say. We only have your word for it, and from our point of view, it's hardly something we should accept out of the blue." He smoothly shrugged his shoulders and turned his head to look at Marcia out of the corners of his eyes. She felt a sharp rise in her sense of danger. She mentally mapped out a series of reactions. If she Jumped to where it was safe, should she go to Winter's Ambit or to Dumbledore? Should she fight back? It was three against one, and she didn't know anything about this magic everyone talked about and used_. Mental note to self,_ she thought quickly, _find out what this magic does before my father realizes I've failed to scout out and monitor my surroundings and the people in them._

"Your story is fantastic and very smooth; it would be difficult to disprove any more than it is to prove. Yes; we have your characteristics, and there is something off with Harry. I can see that from his scar alone, and from the results where Voldemort 'died.'" Adam made quotation marks with his fingers as he said _died_.

"How do I prove myself?" Marcia asked. "You can come meet my mother—-"

He waved her quiet. "It is possible to rehearse this sort of meeting and information with other people. We have other methods." Marcia tensed as he reached into his pocket, and he froze when he noticed. "I'm not going to bring out a weapon. Well, at least not something that you should worry of being threatening if you're telling the truth," he amended quickly. He withdrew a small crystal vial filled with a clear liquid. He gently shook it in his hand as he watched Marcia. "This is a potent truth-telling serum," he said in explanation with one wave of his free hand to the vial. "As an Auror, I am authorized to use it in situations concerning Voldemort where the truth is of absolute essence. Mr. Bires and Mrs. Umbridge are Ministry officials who have agreed to witness my use and what you say."

"Truth serum?" Marcia pinched her lips together disapprovingly. " 'm aware of modern stuff that is highly deadly and highly illegal to use." Not to mention the last time she used some her hair fell out. Being short and flat-chested was difficult enough to live with; being bald only added insult to injury, especially when Patches made off with her wig and fed it to Aunt Elizabeth's cabbages.

Adam froze as he considered Marcia's words, and then grinned. "Deadly? Only if you are allergic to wolf's bane." Marcia had never heard of it. "Granted, there may still be some doubt, but truth under this can hardly be denied."

"Will my hair fall out?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "It's never known to have done _that_ before," he said, glancing sideways at the vial.

"And I can adopt Harry?"

"That," said Umbridge before Adam could say anything, "still depends on my inspection of your family, background, and environment should you pass the questioning under the truth serum."

"Oh." While that was hardly a yes, it certainly wasn't a no. "Will it work on me?"

"It has a history of working well on non-humans, such as goblins, trolls, and vampires," Adam said gently. "I see no reason for it not to work with a non-human with very humanlike properties."

That made sense to her, so she nodded her assent. "I'll take it, but Harry stays with me," she said defensively as Bires reached for Harry.

Bires narrowed his eyes as he continued to hold his arms out to Marcia. "You shouldn't have anything to worry about if you tell the truth," he said. He stood up and gestured for her to take the chair.

Marcia bit back a snarl, and then tersely nodded. She handed Harry over just before she seated herself on the overstuffed chair and kicked her legs free, patiently waiting for Adam to uncork the crystal vial and pour some of the clear liquid into the hollow vial stopper. He carefully handed it over to Umbridge, who sat closer to Marcia, and the woman handed it to her. Marcia carefully accepted the stopper and gulped the liquid down. She ran her tongue along her teeth as she kicked her feet again. It was surprisingly tasteless. Adam watched her for a few moments, and then leaned back.

"We shall now begin," he said. He glanced quickly at the quill as he gave the current date and time. Marcia blinked her eyes, not really caring for the date. She was more concerned with how the sharp edges of her vision were starting to blur and colors were smudging together.

"Say," she said, "what're the side effects of this truth serum thingy? My vision is acting funny."

"There's a mild chance of toxicity," Adam said as he stood up.

"You don't say."

"But given your body mass, the chance of that is unlikely. I gave you a child's dose."

"Gee, thanks."

Adam ignored the sarcasm in Marcia's voice as he walked around her chair, making careful observations of her posture and body language. Marcia leaned languidly back in her chair, feeling relaxed and lightheaded. Maybe this was another side effect of the medication. Marcia certainly knew the chances of _her_ death, even if that bug-like woman said otherwise.

"What is your true name?" Adam asked.

The relaxation disappeared like a candle snuffed out in a fierce dust of wind as every muscle in Marcia's body seized up and thoughts clambered wildly in her mind as she tried to say seven different words at the same time. Sydney. Geneve. Runes. Marcia. I don't know. They were all her true names, but he had only asked for one. There was that name from long, long ago that her birth parents must have given her and she never learned. Which one did she give? How could she give him a name she didn't know?

Adam was instantly kneeling before Marcia, his eyes bright with surprise. "Stop!" Marcia relaxed once more. He studied her critically for a moment before saying, "What are _all_ your true names? Give me a brief history of them."

Brief? Marcia's names meant something to her. They were the sum of her being, and her being was her personality, thoughts, memories, experiences, environments, whims and wishes and dislikes. So many facets of who she was could be stressed in her names. Her name was the representative of her being; could she be so brief with that? They even represented a split history of three different periods in her life. She struggled with her own questions and the burning need to tell him what he needed. Again, she seized up. "Stop." Adam shook his head with disgust as he stood up and turned his back to Marcia.

"What is wrong with her?" Bires asked, but since it was directed to Adam, Marcia didn't feel like answering it. So she floated on her fluffy clouds of haziness and wondered what she was supposed to be doing.

"She's thinking on too many levels," Adam said in a tone of voice that made it clear that Marcia wasn't supposed to be thinking. He rubbed his jaw in thought.

"Is that typical?" Umbridge asked.

"It is with hyperactive people with the attention span of a cockroach."

Ouch.

Adam turned back to Marcia. "What are your true names and how did you come to be named by them? Keep it short and sweet."

She could work with that. "My parents sold me to science so I never learned what that name would have been and then my younger brother, Nandin, later rescued me and he gave me the surname Geneve, which was the name of the Mother Empress and it was custom to take the given name of the royals as a surname for orphans like me and I took Sydney from his surname as my given name which he got from the queen at the time he named himself and then I left the life of Sydney Geneve and tried to change myself so I decided to change my name—"

"Does she even breathe?" Bires asked in fascination.

"—I can breathe very well if you want me to show you." There was a long pause as she did just that. "I got sidetracked. What was the question besides breathing?"

"You were just about to tell us your name change from Sydney Geneve to whatever came next," Adam replied helpfully.

"Oh, yeah."

"Do try to remember periods; the quill can't write as fast as you can babble."

Now, _that_ was just rude. "The Lord of Chaos suggested Marcia, and I liked it so I kept it. Runes, I got from my father. No one in my family calls me Marcia Runes though; I'm still Sydney Geneve to them." She tried not to sound upset when she spoke, but somehow the bitterness became clear in her voice, and she sighed with dejection.

"Ah." Adam waited until the quill stopped moving. "You said Mother Empress. Is there a long story regarding your background of Sydney Geneve?"

"Yup."

"How long, precisely, in years were you Sydney Geneve?"

Marcia did the math in her head. "Sixty-eight years," she said. There was an indrawn gasp of surprise, probably from Bires.

"And how long, precisely, were you unnamed before that?"

"Three years."

"And how long, precisely, have you been Marcia Runes?"

Marcia did some more math in her head and finally resorted to counting on fingers. "One thousand," she began slowly, "two hundred and forty-seven years." Her mind was beginning to clear, the fuzziness slowly becoming solid. She vaguely made out looks of surprise on the others' faces.

"I can see why she avoided the question of how old she was," Bires muttered.

Adam shrugged. "It wasn't as if we'd have believed her," he said with a hint of irony in his voice.

Faster and faster the fuzziness was disappearing. When Adam asked his next question, most of her vision had returned to normal and she no longer felt as if she were floating. "Who is the Lord of Chaos?"

Marcia was reluctant to answer the question, but her metabolism hadn't yet burned off all the truth serum. "The Beast of Disorder."

Adam rolled his eyes. "And what is the Beast of Disorder? What does he do and why did this man earn such names?"

"He's not a man," Marcia replied. "He's. . ." She struggled to think of the words necessary to describe him. "He's not really a he, anyway, we just call the Lord of Chaos that because he took the form of an albino man. And, well, he sired children, so I guess that means he's got the equipment of a he."

"What was he before he took the form?"

"Chaos. Entropy. The darkness' reaction to the Word's Creation."

"What do you mean by creation?"

Marcia was getting tired of being questioned, and she released a breath of aggravation. "The One dwelt in the darkness for eons and eons, and there was only the One and the darkness; not even time existed. And then the One spoke, and the Word Created the Universe, but from out of the darkness came that which had not existed before, the darkness' reaction to the very action of the Word. I think it just sort of popped its head out of the closet and declared it to be party time. As creation came to be, so did destruction. As Order existed, so then did Chaos, and darkness clothed Chaos in the image of a man, and so _he _has been since the Dawn of Time." Thank goodness Ria had managed to make her memorize that much from the Lessons.

"Interesting." Umbridge regarded Marcia with distaste that was becoming more and more clear the more Marcia spoke. "And how would a simple demonling like you come to know this Chaos that existed from the beginning? You speak of it as if you've interacted personally with it before."

Marcia squirmed uncomfortably. "Don't wanna answer that," she muttered as she nervously rubbed her fingers together, not looking at anyone.

"The truth serum's effect has faded," Adam noted with interest.

"Give her another dose," Umbridge commanded.

"No." Adam shook his head. "It wore off before she answered your question, but she's still being truthful and everything she has said corresponds with what we learned earlier."

"She still needs to be under the effect when we ask her of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Umbridge said.

"Ah. Point taken." Adam removed the stopper, poured a dose that was twice the amount as the first one, and handed it to Marcia. She regarded it a moment before gulping it down. Adam waited a full minute before he began questioning Marcia. "Regarding Umbridge's question from earlier," he told her, "just because I'm still curious, how did you come to know this Chaos? If the universe is so great, how did a puny little nobody like you come to know something as personal and as huge as this reaction to the creation? I'm almost tempted to say it sounds as if Chaos is a god."

Marcia still didn't want to answer, but an unknown force within her compelled her to speak. As she babbled, the force conflicted with the growing sense that she was slowly losing Harry. "He's not a god. He's not really a man. He's just an existence. Although that isn't really correct either." _Like me_, she thought in dismay. Was it possible for a not-really-existence to adopt someone? She was fairly sure there was nothing in the rulebooks. "Not so much an existence as a state of existence that all things will eventually undergo. But I, um, _personally _met the Lord of Chaos through my father the second time I met Turk."

"Is Turk your father?"

"Yes."

"How would Turk know the Lord of Chaos?"

"Turk is the Demon King of East Greer, appointed by the Lord of Chaos." The appointment, to the best of Marcia's knowledge, had gone something like this:

** Lord of Chaos**: So, you're Ive's son?

**Turk**: Yes.

**Lord of Chaos**: That's nice.

**Turk**: D-do you know where I can find my father? I've searched for ten years after fighting him and that's the only memory I have. I really need to speak to him.

**Lord of Chaos**: What a shame; I killed him two days ago.

**Turk**: . . . Oh. I see

**Lord of Chaos**: No, you don't, but you certainly will in time. I understand there's a plague that's killing off half the population of East Greer and there are various second-class demons setting up their own monarchies now, which has led to many civil wars in an ironic attempt at trying to kill off the remaining half of the population.

**Turk**:...U m—

**Lord of Chaos**: Oh, and by the by, I declare you king; hehehehe. Congratulations and may you not disappoint me as much as its last ruler. Heheheheh.

**Turk**: I'm doomed!

Somehow, Marcia wasn't sure if Adam wanted this information.

"And so you met the Lord of Chaos through the association of Turk?"

"Yes."

"Do you continue association with the Lord of Chaos?"

"Unfortunately."

Adam looked up from where he had been watching the quill record their conversation. "Why unfortunately?"

Marcia could feel the muscles in her hand seize up. She didn't want to say it. She didn't to say it. She wasn't going to answer, wasn't going to wasn't going to wasn'twasn'twasn't—-oh, poop. "He's f-f-f-f-f-family."

Umbridge gasped, the first loss of control Marcia had witnessed, but she couldn't see what the woman's expression was due to blurry vision,

"How is the Lord of Chaos family?"

Oh bother! This was exactly what Marcia had been trying to avoid. "He's my gr-gr-gr-great grandfather on my mother's side."

Adam stared at Marcia for a long moment as she felt her muscles relax once more. "What is the rundown of your mother's lineage from the Lord of Chaos?"

Marcia bit the inside of her lip as she tried to remember. She had never really cared much about her mother's lineage since she had difficulty enough keeping track of eleven brothers and sisters. "Mama's parents were Finella, daughter of Ilene and the Lord of Chaos, and Petral, of unknown origins. Petral is Grandmother Finella's second husband; of the first husband she had nine children, but only Uncle Gabby survived to adulthood."

Umbridge drew back from Marcia in horror. Adam continued to question Marcia with cold efficiency, wiping at the sweat that beaded his forehead. "What is the Lord of Chaos like?"

"A nightmare." Marcia felt her muscles seize up as her memories of the Lord of Chaos clambered forth, each bearing a different facet of the horror he was capable of producing. "He's death and disorder and destruction, but always change."

She remembered the first time she saw him, falling through the Streams of Time in an uncontrolled Jump. She saw him grasping a great sword that seemed to slice through light itself, feeding upon Order and finding strength in Chaos. His eyes had watched her and had known every little detail of who she was and what she could become, condemning her to become his own creature of chance and change and to forever sow disorder wherever she would happen to get lost or waylaid. It still chilled her to recall how Time and Fate meant nothing to him, how he had reached out to her through eons and across the distance of a million light years, merely because he was aware of every change that occurred in the vast Universe.

But there was also the first time she met him in person, when he gave her a little weepingheart to replace the rose that Butters had accidentally crushed underfoot. That one show of kindness confused her like nothing he would ever do afterwards. A simple, sweet flower to a lost and frightened little girl... Come to think of it, it was the _only_ show of kindness that he had ever given her, the horrible not-quite-actually-an-existence. "He's cruel and difficult and cunning, but he defies stagnation and is an important part of the cycle of creation. It's because of him that creation is renewed to replace what has been destroyed or changed. And that's because of him, too, I guess."

"You fear him."

It wasn't a question so Marcia didn't feel compelled to answer, but she did so anyways. "Yes."

"Why?"

Because he could undo her as he undid everything else. He said she could not be destroyed or killed; he said she could not be unmade because he only worked within the boundaries of Time and she existed outside of them, but there was always the sense that he toyed with her because she was still cheap entertainment. Marcia never felt afraid of dying, but the Lord of Chaos' imagination was infinite, and what he would do to her within the non-confinement of that infinity was what frightened her. While her body and personality was resilient, her mind was as fragile as any mortal being's, and she had seen him crush the spirit and mind and body of his youngest daughter to a mere pulp.

Marcia wasn't aware she had said anything out loud until she noticed how Adam and Umbridge were both slowly backing away from her. "What?" she asked.

Bires slowly sucked his breath in before he spoke to her. "Just as you spoke, something dark wrapped around you like a mantle. Your voice . . ."

"We just lived a nightmare!" Umbridge cried in desperation and horror. "The Dark Lord is more than enough without you bringing this Chaos on our heads!"

There was a rustling of cloth. Marcia's vision was returning to normal and she could feel electrical currents running in the air. She sniffed; the level of sulfur was still the same, but rancid milk — fear — was beginning to overpower it, and magic was coming from somewhere at the beck of someone she couldn't pinpoint.

"Is the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, dead?" Adam asked. His voice was no different from the last time; it was still even, bare of any emotions he might have been feeling.

"Yes."

"How?"

She tried to focus her eyes on him. "Harry's fire killed him."

"Is Harry truly the son of James Potter?" What a stupid question, even by her standards.

"Of course he is!"

There was a long pause, and when Adam next spoke, his words were soft and mocking. "I doubt very much that is so." Marcia tried to lunge forward, but a shooting pain in her abdomen made her freeze and gasp in pain. She heard Adam move but couldn't see him well enough to fight him off as he snapped something cold and rough around her wrist. Instantly, a heavy weight settled on her, as if someone had increased gravity tenfold. Marcia's legs suddenly wouldn't obey her, not with the extra weight. She collapsed against the chair and glared. When Adam spoke, his voice was no more different than before Marcia had tried to move. "You see, Runes, Harry could easily be a halfling bastard, one of many of the results of You-Know-Who pushing his armies of dark creatures upon Muggles and wizards alike. Lily Potter could easily have rejected the memory of rape; it's quite common after all. Little Harry could be pawned off as the son of Lily and James Potter, so we don't know if he is the actual son." Adam's voice cracked, and Marcia caught a note of hysteria. "Other forces could have set up this child to kill You-Know-Who and you could be the puppet. You can still tell us what you know the truth to be, what you believe is the truth, although it may all just be lies."

"And the other force is most likely to be the Lord of Chaos," Umbridge said, her voice now calm and collected with none of its rushing emotions from earlier. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had to get his ethereal powers from somewhere. Could it be the Lord of Chaos?"

Marcia fought against speaking the words. A piercing ache lanced through her arms, legs, and back. She screamed in pain and gave into the compelling force that forced the words from her mouth. "The Lord of Chaos _is_ the source of Chaos and it _can_ take an evil form, but power is neutral and comes from _neither_ Chaos or Order, but its evil intent comes from Him!"

"Is that yes?" Adam barked the words.

Her muscles seized up even when she answered without hesitation. "No! And yes!"

"Why is it no?"

She wanted to cry from the pain. "The power may not have come from the Lord of Chaos, it could have come where else. But the Lord of Chaos _could_ have granted the evil intent, and evil intentions have nasty habits of growing like bills when you don't have a job, except that if Voldemort was human than he sought the power out for greed that he planted in his own heart without the Lord's help! So the greater the intent became, the more powerful the user!"

"Why is that?"

"Because the _power_ would have ripped What's-His-Name to shreds without the _intent_ to hold it in check!" Marcia's vision was nearly clear, but the heavy weight was still there, keeping her in place, but at least the pain was decreasing ever so slightly. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore it. She could see Harry in Bires' arms, looking frightened and confused.

Umbridge squeaked in fear. "There's that darkness again!" she cried, pointing her wand at Marcia. She felt a tremor shake her senses, as if something had been Summoned.

"We'll have to kill her and Harry," Adam said with his lips pressed together. "We'll explain matters to Dumbledore later." He pointed his wand at Harry, his hand trembling fiercely. Bires' face turned ashen and he hastily and roughly set Harry down before scrambling out of the way. Harry stared wide-eyed down the length of Adam's wand. There was a wave of darkness from the corner of the room, and Marcia forced herself to turn her head. "He'll understand how we're trying to protect everyone from this Lord of Chaos."

And there, standing languidly and looking for all the world amused, was the one causing it all. _He_ usually didn't mask his presence, but then evil can take the form of anything, even good - and he really couldn't even be called evil. Just Chaos.

She whimpered and tried to draw away from the corner. A muscle in her lower left leg snapped free of its attachment as she moved; the muscle rebound backwards like a rubber band under her skin, but she was too caught up in her fear to notice a sudden flare of agonizing pain.

From the corner of his eye, Adam saw Marcia inch away from a direction. He turned and followed her line of vision.

"Now, now," said the Lord of Chaos from where he stood in the corner, his voice far deeper than any human's. Having been noticed, he dropped the mask. "You all do such a wonderful job without needing my help." One white eyebrow arched languidly, as if to make the point that, despite being Chaos and a form that _could_ possibly be considered a god, not everything that occurred _was_ his fault. Waves of Chaos rolled off him like billowing clouds of smoke from a forest fire, the air filled with the scents of putrid flesh, brimstone, and sulfur that only Marcia could smell. He was swathed in his robes of deep maroon, the folds buckled loosely at his waist with a band of linking hooks. His helmet was a dragon's skull, the upper jaw lifted upward to reveal his white skin and hair, and the eyes of deep red that lacked pupils. He was as small as Nandin, yet his presence was almost overwhelmingly sinister, and his expression that of vicious cunning, of age that was too great for a simple human mind to contemplate. His hands were folded over the pommel of a sword that reached chest-height on him, and the evil contained within its blade was great enough to crush a single dimension. _That_, at least, was contained.

Marcia Jumped. Individual muscles snapped throughout her body like rubber bands stretched to their limit, rolling into a clump at the points to which they still remained attached. She stumbled and fell sideways beside Harry, the wooden bracelet Adam had placed on her wrist falling free to the ground from where she Jumped free of it. Her entire body screaming in agony and her vision turning black around the edges from the pain, Marcia managed to lift a hand to point a single finger at her three visitors. "Them!" she cried. Her focus zeroed in on Umbridge, and Marcia instantly knew who was at fault for calling the Lord of Chaos' attention. "Take the fat one!"

The Lord of Chaos stared at Marcia for a moment, his face expressionless, and then he smiled. The smile became booming laughter, free of sinister or sadistic evil. The Chaos that rolled from him scattered, leaving only little tendrils to dance about the outline of his body as he slowly wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "Of all the things I half-expected you to say," he muttered, his laughter becoming chuckles, "that was the least of them." He dropped his hands from his sword's pommel, and it disappeared into fading sparks. He crossed the room while the others remained frozen in fear, and sat in the same stuffed armchair Marcia had earlier occupied.

Harry cooed and crawled out of Marcia's circling arms.

"Wha? No! Bad! Harry, you come back here right now!" Harry ignored Marcia, who couldn't move and was in too much pain to even if she could. He eagerly crawled through Umbridge's parted legs, under the coffee table, and over to the Lord of Chaos. "Bad! He's a bad influence! Harry! He's icky, I tell you! Icky, icky, icky!" Marcia fell silent and glowered at the Lord of Chaos as he watched her with open amusement. "You're enjoying this," she grumbled resentfully.

"Immensely," the Lord of Chaos agreed as he scooped up Harry with one gauntleted hand, and a cookie in the other. "Do you care to know why?"

Marcia's gaze shifted to look at Bires, Adam, and Umbridge. All three of them looked ready to bolt in terror, but stood only in place by the self-same terror. While her own fear had dissipated with the Lord of Chaos' laughter and the realization that he wasn't going to do something too destructive this time around, theirs lingered still. "Not particularly."

The Lord of Chaos continued on as if she had said yes. "Because _I_ did _nothing_," he said proudly as Harry curiously explored the Lord of Chaos' belt. The Lord of Chaos nibbled on the cookie and made a face. "Needs milk," he muttered to himself before turning his attention back on Marcia. "You lot did this all to yourself without any of my assistance, and you did it all so very well, I might add. Couldn't have done a better job myself. Well, actually I could, but I give you your due credit." Harry stood up on the Lord of Chaos' lap and prodded the white skin with a coo of curiosity. "Despite no milk, these are good cookies," the Lord of Chaos added, turning his head from Harry's reach when Harry tried to grab a chubby fistful of hair.

"B-biscuits."

"Hmm?" The Lord of Chaos' attention switched from the cookie to the one who spoke. His eyes shifted and again there was the cold cunning locked in his gaze. Bires managed to look a little affronted despite his position.

"They're biscuits, not cookies," Bires said, gaining his strength the more he spoke. He nodded to Marcia once. "She called them such as well." He muttered something under his breath about bloody Americans and how he didn't find it surprising in the least that the Lord of Chaos would use their atrocious bastard of the English language.

The Lord of Chaos smiled, amused once more, but didn't laugh. He set the cookie down on the armchair's arm and jiggled Harry on his knee. Harry laughed and tugged at one lock of fine white hair. "I came to see my new grandson," he said in explanation, despite no one asking him for the reason of his presence. "Since Marcia is doing a horrible job at keeping him, perhaps she could use my assistance."

Marcia still wanted to blame his being here on Umbridge. It made her feel better, somehow.

"Why?" Bires asked.

"Because I like children," the Lord of Chaos replied. "They are an _excellent_ source of disorder; human imagination and human stupidity are both nearly infinite, and they usually go hand in hand. It's the perfect age for both, and I especially like children when they're _mine_."

"He's _adopted_," Marcia said.

"So?" The Lord of Chaos gave Marcia a look that clearly explained where her opinion meant to him in level of importance (which was approximately on the same level as the grime between Rufus' toes. The Lord of Chaos simply did not care one whit of what Marcia thought). "Finella was the only one to ever give me grandchildren despite being the second of six daughters. This is disappointing in considering how she's the only one who wasn't promiscuous. Of her ten children, only two survived. Gabriel has _no_ desire to sleep with anything that moves or breathes, much less _exists_. Ria, bless her Order, gave me twelve grandchildren. Despite how promiscuous half of you lot are — almost as if to make up for the prude half of you who are still virgins," here he gave Marcia a pointed look, but she didn't see how being a virgin was her fault still when anyone who was interested in her turned out to be a pedophile, "I still have nothing to show for it. I am all for keeping things in the family and consider myself to be open to new prospects — that is Chaos, after all — but in all honestly, I feel everyone would benefit if the half of you who are sexually active did it with someone beyond your own gender _and_ your own family and _especially_ beyond animals."

"I didn't need to know that!" Marcia yelled, her face red at the unwelcome visions her over-active imagination gleefully granted her.

The Lord of Chaos looked from Harry to Adam, Umbridge, and Bires. "Do sit down," he said with a hint of irritability. "Seeing you stand makes me think I'm a horrid host." He ignored Marcia's snarl of, "That implies you belong here!" in favor of making faces at Harry, who squealed in delight. "A delightful child," he declared, looking at Marcia to see if she had caught his stamp of approval. She was trying to budge herself from the floor, gritting her teeth and whimpering at the pain.

The Lord of Chaos rolled his eyes in a human fashion and lashed out with his ironclad foot. Marcia's head snapped backwards with a yelp of pain and surprise when his foot made contact with her jaw. He hadn't kicked her enough to do any more serious damage than she had already done to herself, but the little extra bit of pain was enough for her to black out. This was exactly how he liked Marcia—-it was the only time her big mouth was effectively shut, since she had a _ghastly_ habit of chewing through gags, balls, socks, and titanium.

"Now," he said to the remaining three adults with a smile that shadowed his earlier viciousness, "we're going to discuss this matter of adoption." He waited expectedly for them to stiffly seat themselves, and then continued. As he spoke, he let slip the mask of friendly amusement that he had unexpectedly found himself dawning when Marcia yelled, _Take the fat one!_

They hadn't come far together since the time he had forced her to count steps merely because how much she amused him with her childish unconcern with the future.

They still despised each other with a passion.

He unleashed the chokehold he had on his Chaos, and felt it dash free, eager to be explore and change what was stagnant or even what wasn't. His awareness of every detail sharpened upon what his direct influence touched upon. While the wizards and witch did not have the bloodlines necessary to see his Chaos in all its glory, they did feel a growing sense of impending doom. He smiled at them, although it was considerably less of a smile and more of a sinister show of teeth. "Voldemort? Was he the one you spoke of? Oh, yes, I do believe the child killed him." He flexed his fingers expertly as his smile temporarily melted into a sadistic, rather sinister twist of lips. "Sort of," he added too softly for any to hear as he traced one fingertip over Harry's scar.


	6. Chapter Five: Process of Adoption

Marcia blinked her eyes open, reached up under the sheets to rub her nose, and then turned over on her side. She snuggled against her pillows and burrowed further into the cocoon of blankets and sheets she was wrapped in.

She was stiff and sore. Odd. She didn't remember doing anything that would have had her running that long and that hard. She sleepily wrinkled her nose and opened her eyes.

One crooked jade-green eye peered at her curiously. "Ack!" Marcia bolted upright, nearly falling off the bed as she sharply leaned away from the crooked eye. "What are _you_ doing in my room?"

The crooked eye blinked, and then the head it was set in twisted about. Ambrose Runesking's eyes looked off in two separate directions, his left eye peering off to the upper left direction, and his right eye jerking slightly as he concentrated on trying to look at Marcia. This was not unusual for him; it was some sort of birth defect he had been born with, but woe unto them who dared make fun of it in Ria's hearing. "I am a victim of the short straw," he said mournfully by way of greeting. Having said that, his right eye shifted to peer to the lower right direction. Both eyes unfocused, neither really looking at his surroundings nor perceiving details. With his rumpled, fuzzy red hair and misdirected, unfocused eyes, Ambrose's appearance lent him the air of a (not that she would _ever_ mention so before Ria or Turk) brain-damaged buffoon in need of bifocals. Here in the Realm of Reality, where he was anonymous, he was a creature of oddity even without looking like a buffoon. In the Realm of Fantasy, his cream-colored robes, with their eight black rings along the hem and twisted rope-belt, he would have been instantly recognized as the highest ranking individual in the Octane, the headmaster of the Eight Councils of Magic, and the youngest son of the most infamous mage in the country of Vernon.

"Say what?" Marcia asked.

"Victim, short straw; Mama visited with Patches, Knives, Seraph, Everett, and Hestia all on tow and insisted we meet the newest addition. She stressed, however, that we should do so one at a time and at separate intervals so as not to alarm the baby or, or ah, wizzes."

"Wizards?"

"Yes, them," Ambrose said as he demurely folded his hands in his lap. The faint silver-blue Chaotic runes for breeze were barely visible against his pale skin, but they shimmered in the light and sometimes seemed to move, like waves upon water. "So we drew straws and I came up with the short one. It's just as well; when I learned you were adopting a son, I had this vision of being ambushed from behind a potted plant."

Marcia nervously cleared her throat and avoided eye contact. "It never occurred to me," she said quickly.

Ambrose's eyes jerked front and center until he managed to pin her with a solid, two-eyed gaze that was harsh and only slightly unfocused. "I realize now it is an unfounded fear," he said dryly, "yet I cannot help but wonder what could _possibly_ have brought such thoughts to mind." Unnerved by how he somehow managed to look at her directly, since this was only done when his temper was short and he was ready for a fight, Marcia wrapped herself tighter in her sheets and studied her surroundings.

It looked vaguely like a hospital with its lines of beds and their pristine white bed covers and the wash bins to the side, but it certainly smelled like one with its disinfected, slightly stale scent. Someone had thoughtfully set up a crib beside her bed, and she could see Harry through the slates, snuggled up against a stuffed animal of some sorts and fast asleep. Since it was rare for Marcia to wind up in a health care facility (the one that the men in the starched white coats took her to often enough in her youth did not count), she rubbed her head and tried to remember transpired events that landed her in this uncomfortable bed.

Oh.

Oh, yes. Um, _that_ horrible mishap. Marcia ground her teeth and cringed. Since Harry was in a crib at her bed, surely it meant she still had Harry. However, since the Lord of Chaos rarely did anything that benefited her personally in the long run, Marcia was beginning to have second thoughts of this adoption. What if it were true that What's-His-Name got his power from the Lord of Chaos? What was she going to do if the Lord of Chaos had some sinister plan in the makings concerning little Harry?

"Eh." Ambrose reached over and brushed his fingertips against Marcia's clenched hand. "What are you thinking of?" She glanced sideways at him; the tone of his voice made the words sound more like, _What sort of diabolical notion are you contemplating _this_ time? _

Marcia flexed her arms and legs experimentally within the confines of her sheets. While she could move and she didn't hurt, she felt incredibly tight. With an inward sigh, she knew she had lost her much-loved flexibility. "The Beast approved of Harry and me," she said, "and that worries me."

Ambrose shuddered and gathered his robes closer at the mention of his blood relation. The only one who truly got along with the Lord of Chaos was Patches — which was reason enough to believe that she was Evil Incarnate, or at the very least his spawn - but even then it was questionable just how well she truly got along with him. Patches considered the Lord of Chaos to be her Ultimate Kill. (For some bizarre and completely unknown reason, it was a considerable blow to Marcia's self-esteem to know that the Lord of Chaos was worth more the effort to kill than she, especially since the Lord of Chaos was so immortal that he belonged in his own category of immortality.)

Like so many of his brothers and sisters, Ambrose was a rune demonling. Neither Marcia or Nandin had managed to figure out what allowed seven of ten children to inherit a recessive trait beyond the fact that maybe, just maybe, runic demon traits were a dominant gene when the sire had double runes. It was the only explanation they could think of, but there was nothing to prove it considering how rare runic demonlings were.

Turk's father was not only unknown to this very day, but even the Lord of Chaos admitted that sunshine was a rune he had never expected, especially considering how Orderly its properties were — how it even managed to _be_ an element only the One knew, and the One wasn't telling anyone. However, Ambrose was the only one to combine his demonic traits with the abilities of a high-level mage, and such a combination of talent and blood and ability made him a force with which to be reckoned.

Luckily for Marcia, Ambrose was too mild-mannered to do something about all those years she had tormented him like any other [abnormal older sister would. (After she had seen the destruction he and Patches had laid when Patches decided to "test" him shortly after his entry into the ranks of the Elite, Marcia vowed to maintain Ambrose's good nature toward her, and so far was successful. She was lucky he had the patience of a saint, even if he lacked a saint's humility; or, perhaps, the humility was better described as a computer nerd's thirty years of patient revenge as he amassed a fortune worthy enough to buy out all his classmates like the peons they were.)

"How's Harry?" Marcia asked, leaning over to look around Ambrose at the crib.

"Little tyke fell right asleep after I fed him and changed his—-what are they called? Cloths?"

Marcia thought a moment. "Diapers?" she ventured to ask, wondering how on earth the youngest of the family had ever learned how to change them. Ambrose just looked confused. "Padded, um, thingies worn on the bottom to contain Harry's, um, biological functions?"

Ambrose blinked and tilted his head to the side. His left eye quivered and it made Marcia's head hurt to watch it. "Beg pardon?"

"Never mind."

Ambrose turned back to looking at Harry with admiration and tenderness. "Cute little tyke," he said again, with unusual affection. Marcia supposed it was because Harry was small and cute, but how come no one ever gave _her_ affection? _She_ was small and cute!

"What did the Lord of Chaos do?" Marcia waited patiently for Ambrose to respond. He shivered at the mention of their great-grandfather, but said nothing as he poked a finger through the crib's slates and ruffled Harry's hair with it. Harry stirred, flipped over to show Ambrose his diapered backside, and continued to snore. Marcia verbally prodded him again. "Well?"

Ambrose shrugged, his movements fluid and graceful in stark contrast to his misdirected eyes. Unlike Marcia, he kept up with his fighting skills. "I know nothing; the Lord of Chaos came and went, and all _you_ have to show for it is a body that looks like it was trampled in a stampede of rabid unicorns. Oh, that and a few people less than happy with you, although that is nothing new and I'm unsure if we can blame _that_ on the Beast."

Marcia ignored that last comment. It was spoken on autopilot, in the same sort of manner brothers ribbed their sisters and vise versa. Or so she hoped. The One alone knew how many times she poked fun at his ungainliness. "But if the Lord approves, what does it mean?"

Ambrose sighed impatiently. "If you think that you should stop your plans merely to spite the Lord of Chaos, realize that may be why he gave his approval — because he expects such a thing to happen."

She scrunched up her nose at that thought. "So, I should continue my plans for adoption because he might think that I would think it's a feint on his part?"

"It sounds like one of his dirty tricks, now doesn't it?"

It did. "But what if he think that I think it's a feint? Then I'd adopt Harry as he planned."

Ambrose narrowed his eyes, giving him a squinting appearance despite the fact there was nothing in his skewed line of vision that he really wanted to squint at. "But what if he thought that you thought that he thought that . . ." He frowned thoughtfully. "Let me try that again. What if he thought," one finger went up, "_that_ you thought," a second finger went up, "that he thought," a third finger, "_that_ you would expect him to believe it was a feint." His eyes jerked as he looked at his three unfolded fingers, his thumb and index finger tucked against the palm of his hand.

Marcia counted on her own fingers and suspected he left out a 'thought' somewhere. "You're making my headache worse!" she complained. She pushed her sheets back and rolled over to the edge of her bed. Ambrose leaned back as she dangled her legs freely over the bedside. "So Mama decided to tell everyone?"

"Not everyone; merely those of us she deems safe enough to come and meet Harry. One at the time, of course," he added quickly.

"Of course." Marcia didn't see how Patches was one deemed safe enough to come and meet Harry. She thought back to what Ambrose had earlier mentioned, and her mind stuttered to a screeching halt. "She told _Seraph_? But that would he'd have taken a _bath_!"

"Well, yes."

Marcia's brain tried to compute what she just learned, but there was some difficulty in processing. "How's that even _possible_?"

"It is my understanding that he was caught in a flashflood. When his rescuers pulled his water-logged and unconscious carcass from the river, they also gave him some clean clothes, a shave, and a haircut." Ambrose scratched his head. "Being stuck in the flashflood for two and a half days apparently did a great deal of good for him, although I couldn't say the same for the fish in that particular body of water."

Marcia sent a small prayer of gratefulness to wherever the elusive Realm of Order existed. Seraph was one of the more handsome Runesking boys, and Marcia had always thought it was a shame that he would alienate himself from social contact. (Rufus did not count, as much as either of the two brothers would have said otherwise.) As for the Lord of Chaos... She gritted her teeth and tightened her fists. She was going to adopt Harry no matter what, because Harry was her _son_. He was a helpless little baby who had the misfortune of being a demonling in a world that hadn't even begun recovering from forces of dark creatures. It wouldn't be easy for him. It certainly hadn't been easy for her, and _her_ abilities had at least been wanted. She couldn't abandon Harry; not now, not with all that she had learned. And the Lord of Chaos... Well, she would just have to come right out and ask him his intentions. There was an itty-bitty problem of his lying to her if she did, but if she cornered Ilene, she could get the Eternal Phoenix to calm the Lord down enough for him to be truthful.

_There's always that truth potion that was used on you,_ said a sinister little voice in Marcia's mind. She considered the concept for a moment, and then gently brushed it away beneath the proverbial carpet of her cluttered mind. She'd actually have to get the Lord of Chaos to ingest it, and she felt that he somehow would not be cooperative if she approached him with a fake smile and asked him to try out this new drink she was making, pretty please, because everyone knew what her cooking skills were like and he was the only one who wouldn't suffer permanent damage if there_was_ something wrong with the new drink.

Both she and Ambrose looked up at the same time in the direction of the voices that rose sharply into hearing. The voices were loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to distinguish all the words clearly. Marcia thought she heard _Would like,_ and _serious,_ and _stupid cow._ Her imagination, coupled with the wave of boredom that always accompanied her stays in hospitals, played with the words. _Can stupid cows be serious? _"What sort of cows would these be?" she asked Ambrose. "Dairy? Beef?" One eye jerked as he gave her an incredulous look. Almost imperceptible, he inched away from her.

"Only you would bring up cows from nowhere!" he said, accusingly.

"I didn't!"

They stopped in their arguing just then as the door at the far end of the large hospital-like room swung open. An adolescent with red hair prone to static burst in, his robes flapping like sails in a wind, as a middle-aged woman in a traditional nurse's white garb and little white cap hurried after and tried to grab a handful of his robes.

"I have something you want!" Bill Weasley yelled eagerly, waving a rolled-up newspaper in the air. Harry snapped awake at the yell and sat upright with a gurgle.

"Mum?" He pulled himself upright with the slates and peered over the top of his crib. His mouth trembled as Ambrose turned toward him. Harry peered sadly at Ambrose and looked ready to burst into tears. Ambrose extended one hand and flexed his fingers. The purple stuffed monkey Harry had been cuddling smoothly leaned upright with the help of the shifting air about it, levitated, and began to dance a boogie before Harry. Harry watched in fascination and giggled happily.

Bill reached Marcia's bedside just as she realized she wrapped tightly in bandages from neck to toe and wore a thin white hospital gown with a suspicious breeze brushing against her backside. "Eeek!" She re-wrapped herself in her cocoon of blankets and sheets. Bill looked puzzled, with his hand extending the rolled-up newspaper to her, and then he took a step back in surprise. "Your eyes—!"The nurse descended upon him as the Lord of Chaos generally did upon Marcia when he was bored and she was inconveniently disposed within his general vicinity.

"Gotcha, you little rascal!" The nurse yanked Bill backwards. Marcia plucked the newspaper from his hands before he was out of reach. "Family withstanding, You know you aren't to bother my patients anymore than—" She stopped when she caught sight of Marcia unrolling the newspaper and slowly reading the headlines that took up the entire front page.

**YOU-KNOW-WHO DEAD AT THE HANDS OF THE POTTER HEIR! **

"Look!" Marcia reached out and tugged on Ambrose's sleeve. He shifted further from her as he turned his attention from the boogie-dancing monkey to Marcia and the paper she was pointing. "Harry's in the paper!"

"You aren't supposed to be moving!" the nurse declared hotly as she released Bill. Seeing a chance to get away, Bill gave Marcia a cheeky grin and scuttled off. "Your muscles should still be healing!"

Marcia blinked owlishly. "I feel fine," she said carefully. " A bit stiff, but not to be expected. Thanks for your concern," she added hastily when Ambrose gestured with a twirl of his index finger and a disapproving frown upon his face. He was always such a stickler for manners.

"More than thirty muscles in your body snapped from their points of attachments! They shouldn't have healed that fast!"

"But they're reattached. How did they reattach themselves before they healed?" Marcia wondered as she looked at her bandaged arm.

The nurse placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. "I attached them," she said impatiently. "And you shouldn't be moving!" Marcia recognized a brick wall when she saw one (and smelled burning oil). She meekly placed the newspaper down and carefully laid down, yanking the blankets and sheets up to her chin. The nurse turned upon Ambrose, who leaned over to pick up the newspaper and peer one-eyed at the content. "And you!" He flinched and held the newspaper protectively between him and the nurse, as if he expected to shield himself from her. "You should not be exciting your sister like this. If you continue to disturb her, I shall have to ask you to leave." With one hard-eyed glare at Marcia, the nurse turned about and marched off.

Ambrose watched the nurse with one eye as the other eye upon Marcia. "Excite you?" he asked in disbelief. "That's sounds positively disgusting."

In Marcia's opinion, that comment struck too close to what the Lord of Chaos had said earlier. "Get your mind out of the gutter," she grumbled, resenting how she was in bed when she wanted to read the article. Ambrose looked surprised at such a suggestion, and then his face turned beet red. He slumped behind the newspaper, his grip upon its pages white-knuckled.

"That hadn't occurred to me," he muttered with no small bit of embarrassment. Marcia sighed, waited a moment, and then poked his knee. Ambrose jumped as if her touch burned him.

"Neh. Read it for me, will you?"

"Eh." The newspaper rustled and dropped. He brought his face closer to the print as both eyes jerked and unsteadily. "You may have to," he said with a sad note, "I can't focus my eyes."

"I could if I would," Marcia replied absentmindedly. There was something she was supposed to have done, something that she could barely remember. Something that had to do with time... Oh!" Marcia glanced sideways at Harry, who was beating the stuffed monkey against his crib's slates. "I haven't registered at the IDLO for a permanent visa! My license is going to get suspended if I get caught here!"

She yanked her covers down. "Stay here with Harry! I'll be right back!" She Jumped from the hospital bed to her room in the Great Northern Kingdom. A wave of exhaustion and dizziness slammed into her as her feet met the ice floors. Head reeling, Marcia stumbled against her four-poster bed and leaned against it, gasping in shock. She slumped to the floor and curled up in a ball, ignoring the cold that was creeping into her skin and muscles. After taking a few breaths and feeling the dizziness seep away, she looked up. "All right!" she yelled at the ceiling, as if the Lord of Chaos could hear her. "Are you messing with my brain chemistry again?"

There was some rustling over in the corner, and Seraph peeked his head through her open bedroom door. "Have you been playing around the exhaust fumes of your Wemplington?" he asked curiously.

"Eeek! Don't look! I'm almost naked!" Marcia dived under the bed. Seraph, a wispy-looking albino, blinked; his skin was etched with the bronze-colored Chaotic runes for soil, and they were far more clear than Ambrose's. His bone structure was as delicate as Ria's, but he had more flesh to fill out the planes of his face, and his cheeks were suffused with a faint pink color of skin scrubbed a little too hard for a little too long.

"You know those sort of comments deliberately act as a magnet rather than a deterrent." He sniffed and rubbed the bottom of his nose. His white hair and worn terrycloth bathrobe were both rumpled, as if he had just awoken from a nap. He got down on his hands and knees and peered under the bed. "So what's this Harry like? Mama says he's giving you a heck of a time." He smiled gently to take the sting from his words, and Marcia fought down the urge to reach out and prod him in the nose. Seraph had a rich, melodious voice that Ria had noticed immediately from the first time he wailed, shortly after childbirth. Unfortunately for everyone, Seraph also detested singing. It was just as well, since Seraph couldn't carry a tune to save his own life. Although listening to him speak while he went through puberty had certainly been entertaining.

"Don't look," she said again, hunching down amongst the shadows and the dust bunnies. The cleaning elves had clearly been taking shortcuts again. And they often wondered why Ria overlooked Yuletide bonuses!

"I can't see you, and besides, you don't have anything to look at, and I've already seen better that what you would have to look at if you had it. So I wouldn't be surprised anyway even if you were to flaunt what you haven't."

Despite not really understanding what Seraph said, Marcia had a distinct feeling she had been insulted. "Think you've gone too long without a bath," she muttered darkly, " 'cause it's addled what coherency you had."

"Eh?" He blinked tiredly, and then brushed a hand through his hair. Most of it stood on end. "Actually, I lost my glasses in the flood. Aside from that, I felt your balance off when you came," he said helpfully. "Did you have to break through another of great-grandfather's blocks?"

"Dunno. I was severely injured from some questioning when _He_ showed up and decided to speak to them. Said something about my botching up adopting Harry, and now that he's approved of it, I'm sort of worried."

"Questioning?"

"Truth serum."

Seraph looked startled. "Truth serum injured you?"

"No. A bracelet did."

Seraph scratched his head. "I'm confused," he said, looking like a lost child who had just been told he couldn't go home. "So someone bludgeoned you with a bracelet? That's the only way it could possibly hurt you." He frowned suspiciously. "Besides, you don't _look_ injured."

Marcia growled. "And how would you know? You just said you lost your glasses!"

"I did, didn't I?" Seraph rubbed his face. "Then I suppose going to see Harry is out of the question."

"Yes," Marcia said hurriedly, not wanting more family to show up when the adoption situation was still unknown. "I just came here to get something. I gotta go back, too, so you'll just have to find your glasses before meeting Harry." She waved her hand. "Shoo. Shoo."

"Ah." Seraph shrugged eloquently. He didn't care that his older sister, whose tone of voice made it quite clear that he was unwelcome, was snubbing him. He was used to being snubbed and pushed away ever since he and Rufus decided to test the bonds of family. Bonds of family, as they learned, were just fine and well, as long as they stood downwind and at a distance.

He stood and made his way out of the room, only walking once into the doorframe. He heard a snicker from under the bed, but personally thought he was doing fine to avoid everything else. With his hand firmly on the wall to guide his way, he made his way back to his own room, which was two rug wrinkles, three doors, and a single knee-knocking table away from Marcia's.

Once Seraph's footsteps had faded, Marcia wiggled her way out from beneath her bed. She paused long enough to brush away the dust bunnies that clung stubbornly to her hospital gown, shivering violently against the cold. She shed the hospital gown and tried to unwind the many layers of bandages wrapped around her body. She promptly became entangled, had to chew her way free, and then used a knife to slice away the remaining bandages. With that accomplished, she used the longer pieces to bandage the four areas she accidentally nicked herself while shivering.

She quickly dressed in a Kevlar-layered, velvet-lined red overjacket that fell to her knees, rolled back the too-long sleeves, and slipped on a pair of fur-lined moccasins. The overjacket had originally belonged to Patches, which explained why it didn't quite fit. As of now, she didn't know the full extension of the damage to her body, and the overjacket would provide any extra protection she may need. (Marcia also decided to go through a quick series of stretches. Her muscles ached, she didn't have full extension or flexibility, and the scars across her back pulled. While that last was nothing new, it was unusual that the pulling would be so painful. Marcia straightened almost immediately from her toe-touch when pain lanced down her spine and down the back of her legs.) The greatest thing about the jacket was its many zippered pockets. It made for packing teeth-rotting candy and palming small valuables easy. (Not that, uh, she often palmed small valuables. But one never knew when the chance arose, and Marcia was a firm believer in being prepared for special occasions.)

She rifled through her underwear drawer where she had hidden the wallet that contained all her IDs. She flipped through that quickly just to make sure she still had everything since Molly had a bad habit of running off with anything that wasn't nailed down or, in such situations, could be pried loose.

Satisfied with the contents being intact, Marcia unzipped a pocket, tucked her wallet into it, and zippered it shut. Then, remembering Bill's reactions to her eyes, she hurried out of her room and down the hall to Nandin's room. A quick peek through the doorway, and she knew instantly that he wasn't present. Good; the last time she had run off with his extra pair of glasses she nearly lost all her hair ducking beneath a vicious swipe of his sword. Still, she was cautious when she lifted the extra pair from his dresser and dawned them.

With a stubborn straightening of her shoulders and a deep breath to steel herself, Marcia Jumped back to Hogwarts. Whether exhaustion slammed into her like a car slamming into a brick wall at a high speed or her strength was sapped away like a drop of water in bright sunlight, Marcia couldn't tell. All she knew was that her legs refused to work and she collapsed on her bottom with a breathless gasp. She planted her hands against the ground and leaned over, her vision swimming and a floating sensation messing up her sense of balance and orientation.

"Eh?" A swirl of cream-colored robes and black lines appeared in her line of vision. "Is something the matter? The last time you collapsed was when Patches fed you that poison berry pie."

Marcia remembered that. She had thought it was _boysen_berry, and so had Nandin, but Nandin had an iron stomach and she, well, she had eaten four pieces to his one. "I don't know what's wrong!" she complained, beginning to shake from exhaustion. Ambrose bent over and rested one hand on her shoulder, steadying her body and lending a sense of security. "I do know that it's got something to do with the Lord of Chaos!" If she had had the strength, she would have raised a fist in the air and shook it for good measure.

"Must you blame Grandfather for everything?" Ambrose asked in exasperation.

"It is too his fault!"

"But you blame him for everything."

"He's the Lord of Chaos! How How can he be guiltless?"

There was a long pause as Ambrose seemed to consider this. "You're right!" Ambrose said with dawning understanding, surprise and awe coloring his voice as it never had before. "Everything is suddenly clear to me! I—-"

"What is going on here?" Umbridge's voice was loud and came from Marcia's left. She leapt to her feet, knocking the top of her head into Ambrose's chin, and he stumbled backwards with his words suddenly cut off.

"Oops!" Marcia reached a hand out to steady Ambrose, felt the floor heave up suddenly beneath her, and wound up leaning against Ambrose for support as he rubbed his chin and muttered something along the line of he suddenly couldn't remember what he was thinking.

"Gone," he mumbled, his eyes jerking as he managed to focus them together on the floor. "A thought that explained the universe, gone!" He glowered at Marcia, who wondered if she should feel guilty.

Umbridge appeared around the doorframe, her hands on her hips and looking all the world as if she were searching for a suitable scapegoat. A scapegoat, conveniently enough, that she had just found in Marcia.

Marcia wondered if now would be a good time to escape as Umbridge swooped down upon her like a starving chicken upon a plump grasshopper. "We," she said in a snide voice, settling one heavy hand on Marcia's shoulders, "still have to inspect your family home." _Uh oh_. "I must be assured that it is a safe environment and the dwelling persons are suitable role models." Double _uh oh_ with a _darn it_! piled on top.

Marcia mentally catalogued all the people she knew to be home. Seraph Ambrose, Ria, Molly, Hestia, Uncle Gabby, and were all safe in their varying places and moods. Patches was something else.

"But before we do," Umbridge withdrew a clipboard from out of nowhere; Marcia was suitably impressed because Umbridge didn't have as many pockets as she did, "there are some questions I would like to ask. Number one: what is your annual income?"

Marcia shot Ambrose a quick glare as he snickered behind his hand. Umbridge's eyebrows rose slightly, and Marcia, thinking quickly, coughed in her hand and wiggled slightly. " 'm not sure you would appreciate its value, given the probable differences between our currencies."

Umbridge's eyebrows twisted. "Try me," she said darkly. Ambrose coughed again and Marcia nervously shuffled her feet.

"Eh. Two thousand gold bits a year in the Realm of Fantasy," she said finally, "which translates to sixty-odd thousand cazhe inter-universally." Considering how high the cost of living was inter-universally, Marcia was below the poverty line and sinking fast.

Umbridge looked puzzled. "What is that in galleons?"

"Gallons? Dunno. Never thought of liquidizing the gold but I suppose I could melt-"

Umbridge sighed in exasperation. "_Wizard_ money."

"Oh. Dunno. I might be able to get a conversion. What sort of money is Scottish?"

Umbridge looked affronted as she hmmed and made a mark on the paper. "It's all the same system in the United Kingdom," she said in a superior voice. "What is your highest level of education?"

_Triple uh oh and woe is me_. "Um. Fourth grade."

Umbridge made some vague gesture with the hand holding the clipboard as she peered over the frames of her glasses at Marcia. "And that is?"

"Fourth grade is fourth grade. Means I only had four official formal years of schooling."

Umbridge frowned and tapped her quill disapprovingly against the clipboard. "Why only fourth grade?"

Because those four official formal years of schooling meant she flubbed the grading system, avoided teachers and classes, and took nine years to complete. "My fourth grade may not match up to your standard fourth grade either. I mean, the year on Shakti was eight hundred Earth days." Which was true, as well. "And school years lasted for six hundred of those days." And she had managed to attend about two hundred of them, mostly in detention while chained to the desk, firmly told not to chew on the chains.

"I see." Umbridge wrote more.

Marcia scratched her head in curiosity. "What did the Lord of Chaos do?"

Umbridge wouldn't have gone as still and as tight with tension if Marcia had dropped her in a pit of deadly snakes and said that movement meant death. Slowly, Umbridge looked at Marcia; she heard a sharp intake of breath from Ambrose as the sudden, almost-overwhelming scent of rancid milk swept over them. "Nothing," Umbridge said in a tight, small, very child-like voice. Her hands trembled, but her face was devoid of feelings and there was a blank look in her eyes.

"What did he say?"

The trembling increased ever so slightly. Umbridge looked away hurriedly. "I don't remember," she said, holding the clipboard up as if to hide behind it. Marcia frowned behind her glasses.

"_I_ see," Marcia said, feeling a sense of triumph at being able to say it after the interview with Adam. "Well, since I got things to do with the Aliens Licensure Office and they would have a fit at my bringing along someone like you from a low-ranking planet, I'm going to leave you in the capable hands of Ambrose, who will definitely be able to ask any questions you have concerning family!" She rushed past Ambrose to her rumpled hospital bed where the newspaper sat upon its covers and Harry was looking at her from between the slates of his crib. She ignored the sudden stiffening of Ambrose's posture, although the hardening of air and the increasing difficulty in being able to breathe was slightly more difficult to ignore. "Gotta do this because of Union rules," she said hurriedly, gathering up the newspaper and patting Harry on the head. "And I don't know how long I'll be gone — probably a few hours — 'cause I have to fill out _mountains_ of paperwork." Since neither Ambrose or Umbridge protested, she made one final Jump.

She tried to make sure that her arrival was placed conveniently close to the chairs in the waiting room so she could collapse on them. Nope; that was the coffee table. With several fresh cups of hot coffee. Yow!

* * *

Marcia awoke this time to something far more inhuman than Ambrose. The cloud of atoms, so dense that she could see actual electrical pulses shooting through its multihued mass of violet and green, floated beside her head as she sat upright, instantly awake and instantly alert. She was in a cold metal room, resting upon an even colder metal examining table. Beside her was a syringe, its plunger pushed all the way in, with a few ions clinging to it. She instantly connected that with the dull pain in her upper arm. "What happened?" she demanded. She glared at the cloud, which was actually an alien from some planet whose name in its native language would destroy her vocal cords if she made an attempt at pronouncing it. "Did you drug me? My ID specifically says I'm not to be drugged under _any_ circumstance!"

It replied in its usual fashion of a rumbling of harsh squeaks, guttural snaps, and the multi-hues shifted to red and orange. The sounds were incomprehensible to the humanoid ear and tongue, but the translator chip imbedded in Marcia's auditory cortex, state-of-the-art and as wonderful as all the other technology that Marcia adored, translated it into the language that she understood. _Readouts of force pertains your funds low enough to consider you for clinical death. _

However, like so many other technological toys, it did have its flaws, and sometimes she wished that she had a translator for the translator.

"Whatever." She waved it away and jumped off the table. "Just don't do that again." She didn't feel as stiff as before, nor did she feel tired. They must have given her a booster shot of an adrenaline/glucose elixir. "Where am I?"

_Sickbay division. _

"So I'm only half a building from where I want to be. 's good." Her sleeve had been rolled back for the shot, and she quickly pulled it down. She also checked her pockets for her wallet (intact, but its contents were out of order so they did check to see what her status was), and found the newspaper tucked in one, neatly folded in a crisp square for a clean fit. "I'm off then, if there's nothing else."

_D-hoppers are not compulsory for estimation; you are liberated to do as you long. _

"Uh. Yeah. Okay. Is this going to cost me anything? Are there any fees I have to cover?"

_Purpose of sickbay is complimentary for all. _

"Good. So long." She waved a hand as she walked over to the square in the wall, a pair of orange and green triangles barely in reach. She touched the green triangle and the door slid open with a silent whir of its mechanisms. It took her two hours to make it through the stark halls. She ignored other aliens she crossed paths with, neither making eye contact (if that was possible) nor exchanging greetings. Her head hurt when she caught sight of and tried to comprehend one peculiar alien that was five-dimensional.

The spaceport Marcia was at was a major government crossroads; at any given day there could be more than twenty million creatures passing through. The buildings meant to accommodate such a high amount and wide variety of creatures as well as the services needed were large and endless. Any other creature would have used one of the many spastomolecular transport stations to go from one service department to another. However, like other D-hoppers, Marcia's molecular structure and abilities to move anywhere tended to short-circuit the stations.

Marcia wasn't exactly aware of what was wrong with her, to collapse after Jumps. Given the messages that the multihued mass had conveyed, she vaguely suspected that the damage done to her body was so extensive and so thorough that energy reserves had been spent in repair. Since she ordinarily would have Jumped to the department she wanted, Marcia opted instead to take the Beltway, which was an overglorified conveyer belt that ran many kilometers through all the buildings. She tried not to think of how long she had been out, or how long this would take walking when she couldn't Jump. She had said a few hours, but by whose definition was those few? While she was at it, she squashed any feelings of guilt she might have had for leaving Ambrose to Umbridge. He was used to politics and wrestling with power mongers; he could handle the one little social worker from the Ministry.

Right?

Science, technology, and being off-world was a great comfort for Marcia. She missed the convenience of machines doing everything for her. She missed hot baths. She missed computer games and being able to tinker with high-tech lasers, blasters, and guns. Contrary to what the rest of her family might have believed, crossbows were not the greatest weapons invented since the slingshot, nor was the can-opener the greatest invention man had yet to offer them. After all, there was a lot to be said about television, with all of its delightfully mind-rotting programs.

When she made it to the department for licensures on other planets, she carefully made her way to the often-unused, often empty Inter-universal Dimension-hopping Licensee Office. The IOU had a real problem with dimensional hoppers going around the universe and mucking up things outside its jurisdiction. However, _because_ they were D-hoppers, the only way the IOU could control such beings was making a license that recognized them as legal Aliens, authorized to be in both civilian and non-civilian territory and have their credentials recognized in any Registered planet. There was an awful lot of power to be had in the single little ID card. Becoming a D-hopper was next to impossible, even though _being_ a D-hopper was exceedingly rare; D-hoppers had to prove their ability to move anywhere without the use of technology, and the distances had to be at least planet to planet. Marcia only personally knew two other D-hoppers, and both were Aliens with magnificently high psychic abilities. (Marcia also hated both of them, since they had proceeded to give her quite the mental thrashing. Try to make off with one little piece of advanced technology that only existed in one part of one dimension that she could never hope to find and only they owned, and they take it _so_ personally. Sheesh.)

To make it easier for everyone but the D-hoppers, the IOU decided that there were certain rules that D-hoppers, with their extended knowledge of technology, other worlds, given superstitions of non-advanced cultures, and unique abilities to move anywhere, had to obey. Since Earth was not a Registered planet for established extraterrestrial visitors, D-hoppers had to have a license to stay longer than twenty-four hours. It was one of the Rules.

Marcia weaved a haphazard path around the empty rows of chairs to the empty receptionist's window. Just before she reached it, she snagged one of the chairs and dragged it over to the window so she could stand on it and see over the edge. Not caring if there were custodial Union rules against feet on the furniture, Marcia stood on the cushion and reached out to firmly whack the motion sensor she was too short to trigger. (It was discrimination of how there were few faculties she was capable of using at her height! If floating, suspended masses of atoms could get apartments suitable to their natural environment, than she could darn well stand on a chair if no one was going to keep a handy dandy stool available for her to stand on!) There was a blip. It would take them about an hour to find someone knowledgeable enough to give her the application paperwork. Since she had filled out the paperwork before and had most of the answers on the multiple choice exam memorized, Marcia was confident that it wouldn't take her any more than two hours to obtain the license once someone arrived.

In the meantime, she had brought reading material.

Marcia slipped her feet out from beneath her and sat down on the chair with a hard thump. She winced at pain that echoed through her back, and reached around with one hand to massage her back through the Kevlar lining. After a few moments, she sat back, spread the newspaper over her legs, adjusted her glasses, and then set to reading.

YOU-KNOW-WHO DEAD AT THE HANDS OF THE POTTER HEIR!

By Louis Adam.

Marcia fumed. "That sneak!" First he told her he was a reporter, then he told her he was an Auror (which she never did find out what that was), and then he had an article published in a newspaper. Was it too much to ask if people could just make up their minds in what they are when they told her?

_On October 31st, 1981, You-Know-Who entered Godric's Hollow and struck down James and Lily Potter in their prime with the Killing Curse. Sources claim You-Know-Who also used the Killing Curse on Harry. For unknown reasons Harry manifested powers that reversed the affect of the Killing Curse and instead destroyed You-Know-Who. One of these powers was fire, produced in a magnificent firestorm . . . _

"Yada yada," Marcia muttered as she skimmed past what happened and various speculations of what Harry was. "Told 'em he's a fire demonling." Nowhere was she mentioned by name, although Dumbledore was quoted in saying that "_Harry is yet a baby; he's completely harmless and incapable of reason. Yes, he does have unusual abilities and they are dangerous if left uncontrolled, but he is currently under the care of someone believed to be capable of training him in controlling such abilities". _Umbridge had a brief quote as well, as to how "_the person Dumbledore mentioned is dysfunctional and not trustworthy enough to look after our Savior of the Wizarding World. Undoubtedly she means well, but, as Muggles are wont to say: The road to hell is paved with good intentions. She is completely ignorant of both the Wizarding world and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Even if she is capable of training young Harry Potter, do we want someone of her nature to be a primary caregiver for our little one?" _

Marcia gritted her teeth in annoyance. " 'Undoubtedly she means well,' " she said in a high-pitched voice, her words slurred together. She wanted to throw the paper across the room and sulk. So what if she was ignorant of the Wizarding World? She knew a lot more of the Universe than they did. That had to account for something, didn't it? And ignorance was something easily remedied with learning. Hogwarts was a school; the place had to be _saturated_ with information she could pick up effortlessly simply by Law of Osmosis, or something to that effect. Well, maybe not effortlessly, since it required actually _remembering _the info, but she could do it if she tried! "So what did the Lord of Chaos do to you, eh, since you can actually _say_ something like that?" Of course, that might have been _why_ Umbridge spoke in such a way. Since Marcia was associated with the Lord of Chaos, she couldn't exactly be trustworthy.

She briefly skimmed over other passages of what apparently famous people had to say about the Dark Lord's end. There was a brief mention of Harry's scar and how no one knew what it meant, except Dumbledore was positive it came into being after the Dark Lord attacked him with the Killing Curse.

_Since the Dark Lord began his campaign of evil seven years ago, the increasing number of dark monsters has steadily been on the rise. Illegitimate babies have been pouring into not only our orphanages and foster homes, but also Muggle orphanages due to the increased numbers of rape among Muggle women by these monsters. Aurors, already overworked with the fight against You-Know-Who, have been responsible for recovering the babies from Muggle women and their maternity wards, and the orphanages in which the babies were abandoned. Other ministry officials have worked double-time to modify memories of all Muggles involved. Thus far, there has been little trouble with the Ministry and the Aurors concerning these halflings, although this will certainly change when the children are older and cannot enter school. Volunteers willing to adopt or work with these children so they may learn their place in the Wizarding society are currently being sought._

Despite her earlier irritation with Umbridge, Bires, and Adam, Marcia couldn't help but whistle at that particular piece of information.

So that was why Umbridge and Adam were so doubtful of Harry's heritage as James' son. They must have thought Harry was another bastard. Marcia scanned through the article once more, but found no mention of demons being mentioned as a dark creature or monster working for What's-His-Name. There were brief summaries of some of the Dark Lord's exploits of torturing and killing Muggles, more rapes, the history of the war as well as brief highlights of the worst battles, and those who had fought most valiantly on the side of good (Dumbledore and James were both mentioned, Marcia noted absently). At the very bottom of the page, there was mention of Death Eaters and how they were pouring into the Aurors' offices to turn themselves in, claiming to be under some imperial spell. Trials were set to begin this week, and from the looks of it, the justice system, or its Wizarding equivalent, was going to be overloaded.

Marcia reached the end of the article and opened the newspaper to Page 2. She was instantly greeted with a moving picture of a familiar man wrapped in a familiar white coat, his hands behind himself, with dark, brooding figures hovering about on guard. "Sucks to be you, bud," she told the picture with no small bit of sympathy. Well did she know what it was like to have an itch and not be able to reach it. The man was laughing hysterically and whipping his head about in the picture, moving just as the portraits had. Instantly she knew who it was.

_So_, she thought bemusedly to herself, _he really _was_ insane_! It was nice to be right when you were usually wrong most of the time. She glanced over the article. Sirius Black, Secret Keeper for James and Lily Potter, betrayed them to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Killed thirteen Muggles and blew up Peter Pettygrew. The only thing left of anyone was a single finger. Oooh! How delightfully morbid! He was also sentenced to some place called Azkaban, but the name meant nothing to Marcia.

Except, uh, wasn't he Harry's godfather?

"Crap!" She didn't want Harry to be associated with someone who killed Muggles and Peters and betrayed parents. Not that her family was brimming with pacifists and saints... Except, if she recalled meeting and speaking with him correctly, Sirius Black had been expecting living people when he arrived at Godric's Hollow on his motorcycle. There was no other point to running around, yelling their names. When he found or discovered they were dead, why was he surprised if he had betrayed them to their deaths? Still, what would _she_ know? After all, she was _completely_ ignorant of the Wizarding world and was dysfunctional to boot. And if it were possible, Marcia was positive Adam would have added something along the lines of her being flat-chested and four foot nothing.

But, her mind continued in another direction, he _did_ smell insane. Did wizards get time off for pleas of insanity? Only idiots and crazy people drove motorcycles in the air without helmets or parachutes. Marcia scratched her head and tried to think of a reason why someone would betray his godson and his godson's parents, and then be so surprised at finding them dead. Maybe he had a split personality that was evil and was the one who betrayed James and Lily. Was it possible to just sentence the split personality? Did a person have to be sentenced as a whole? How could just a single side of a split personality be isolated for punishment when the other was innocent?

Stranger things in her life had been known to happen.

* * *

**author's notes**  
Ah. Almost in the home stretch; there will be more interaction with actual HP characters in the later chapters now that Marcia is finally able to get squared with family and the IOU. The next chapter won't show much of Marcia, since she'll be getting the license, but it will have more Ambrose/everyone else interaction, more Harry, more appearances by family, and much more HP characters. The pace will begin to pick up more, as well. Oh, and Snape gets to babysit. That ends in a _disaster_.

The Lord of Chaos has wispy white hair that is usually flattened and slicked back from the pressure of his skull-helmet; he looks about fourteen, is slight of bodyl, and when he does a better job at masking his true nature, he is best described as having a boyish, open face. His "consort," since I use the term loosely for the Eternal Phoenix, is a foot taller than him. I am rather surprised at how well-met the Lord of Chaos is, despite the shortness of his appearance and the mildness of his displayed temperment. He does play an important role and will make later appearances.


	7. Chapter Six: Process of Adoption

Nothing was ugly in Ambrose's world. His vision was a mishmash of color and jumbled masses that he never placed a great deal of effort into recognizing. But the sounds! How could anyone else understand the single clarity of a single sound that exists? Is it possible to describe the shifting of billions of air molecules at various frequencies, the touch, taste, and comprehension of that shifting? Sounds came in all sorts of variations, and each one was as unique as the last; each one had a slightly different variation of shifting molecules. Often times the changes were miniscule; most beings did not realize the subtleties. Order and Chaos took forms of bell or drum sounds. The Lord of Chaos was a war drum that beat a steady, echoing rhythm. Sydney was a constant, almost frantic ringing of tiny, tin bells. Turk was the very high-pitched tinkling of glass bells, very soft and very gentle. Harry was very much like a never-ending wail of a fire alarm that he had once heard some years ago on his last visit to the Realm of Reality. This Umbridge person was like a church bell that tolled across the countryside.

Thinking of Umbridge, he supposed he ought to speak up against the many complaints she had against Sydney, although, in all truth, Umbridge's complaints were not without cause. Ambrose had borne witness to Sydney's worst. To be fair to her, he had also borne witness to her best, although he couldn't exactly place an exact instance. He _could_ say Sydney didn't carry grudges and was very forgiving; he _could_ say it wasn't in her nature to do so, but in truth it was because she was too lazy to make the effort of carrying a grudge.

Tinkle tinkle tinkle. There was Harry losing interest in the stuffed animal dancing a boogie. With some effort and concentration, Ambrose focused his eyes together over the bridge of his nose to look at Harry. Cute little tyke... Ah, look at that big, grin being bestowed upon him! Ambrose just knew when he was loved.

He stood and walked to Harry's crib. Harry cooed and reached one chubby hand out to grasp at Ambrose's robes. He babbled something indistinct and jerked his fistful of robes. Ambrose took that as a sign to pick Harry up.

In the background of rustling noises, Ambrose was faintly aware that Umbridge had fallen silent, although the tone of her tolling bells had deepened ever so slightly. That meant a change in her mood. No matter; Harry was smiling happily and drooling on the fine wool of his shoulder, and that was what mattered. Harry smiling. There was something pleasant to be said about holding another human being, one that depended and trusted wholly. Ambrose knew of people who could not stand babies and felt that people should be born at least thirty years old, but he felt that children should be allowed their time and stupidity.

"She had never been a mother before," he said suddenly.

Umbridge was silent for a moment before she spoke. "I beg your pardon?" she asked cautiously.

"How many people take parenting classes before they come parents? Do they ever take tests or apply for licenses?" Despite how the only bits of technology that Ambrose was familiar with was the can opener (wonderful invention, really) and red buttons are never to be pushed under any circumstances no matter how tempting, he knew the jargon. Sydney had been nice enough to let him come along on some of her trips when she floated the universe in her Wellington.

Which was where he learned about the red buttons, after they were both ejected from the cockpit into the airless void. Sydney hadn't known what the button did, since she hadn't thought of grabbing the manual when she hijacked the ship, so you'd think she'd had been more grateful. Nooooooo…

Umbridge was silent for a moment, and he knew she was weighing the question for any hidden significance. Harry babbled in Ambrose's ear and pointed in some random direction. "Not usually."

"Right. So any old bimbo from off the street can have children." Babble babble. Blurp. Ambrose made a quick mental note to change before he went to any meetings.

"If they so chose to. But we cannot allow 'any bimbo,' as you have so said, to become guardians for _other_ people's children."

"Hmm. It all sounds rather perverse to me; the same standards should be applied to everyone."

"Oh, I wish it were," Umbridge said sincerely, "I wish it were."

He thought about the list of things he had to do and matters to attend to back at the Eight Councils; there were meetings, classes. Graduation would be soon and he had yet to investigate apprenticeship applications for the superior mages of three different Orders. If it weren't for that damn short straw... Cute little tyke, though. Ahhhh. There was another big smile! Odd how Harry's temperament immediately improved once Sydney left. That did not bode well for future relationships. On the other hand, fire and air were complementary elements... Naaah. The fault was to be found with Sydney, he was sure.

"You do realize what would happen if you turn Sydney down for adoption and the Lord of Chaos finds out. Which he would, of course, as he appears to have a vested interest in Harry."

There was a visible drop in temperature then, and it didn't take someone as observant as Aunt Heather to realize what was the source of the chill. "Is that a threat?" Umbridge's voice was soft, but Ambrose noticed another perceptible shift of tone in the tolling bell; it had become deeper, more ominous.

"Either you will accept Sydney or not." Ambrose shrugged and held one hand out, palm turned upward. "I care not whether she is or isn't; I haven't the vested interest in Harry, even if I think he's cute. Personally, I believe that Sydney is not currently ready to be a mother. However, I could be wrong since she has never been one before. There's not much room for comparison, and there really isn't a point to all of this when a body stops to think about it."

Umbridge contemplated her notes, flipping through some pages before she answered. "Past behaviors tend to indicate whether or not someone would make an adequate parent. Could you explain more of why you believe she wouldn't?"

Ambrose knew it was in his best interest to help Sydney, since she _was_ his older sister and he could barely outrun her. However, he was a strong believer in the truth, and knew well that often the truth hurt. This was fine with him as he also believed that what didn't kill one would make one stronger. Still, he selected his words carefully. "Who, but someone who is a grandparent, knows how to successfully raise, interact, and cope with teenagers?" Ambrose could well remember Ria grousing of them; the concept of adolescence was unheard of in the Realm of Fantasy, but Sydney had readily given the information to Ria, along with diapers, sedatives, bubble bath, aromatherapy, and a massage kit, the last with which Turk had greatly enjoyed exploring. "We all know what should be done, and we all like to tell parents who are struggling with these issues what they need to do. Personally though, I haven't the experience. Sydney hasn't the experience. How can you judge whether or not she would be a good mother?"

Umbridge pinched her lips together and probably explained in a roundabout way that certainly didn't answer Ambrose's question, except he tuned her explanation out as he stepped backwards onto a small, palm-sized stuffed animal that squeaked pathetically. He stooped to pick it up, and Harry instantly tugged it away to play with. The stone beneath Ambrose's feet felt like it was alive, and Ambrose, from the moment he had entered Hogwarts through the Dore Ria had given him, had felt Hogwarts living, breathing, and comprehending itself. When Rufus would come and go, they would have to speak of Rufus' conceptions of the place, since his element was earth.

Oh, listen to that. A chorus of sounds, some mechanical, others natural, flowed like a river beneath his feet, in the corridors and hallways of the floor behind him. Meeting other people in this place sounded like a good idea to him. Completely ignoring Umbridge, who was still babbling her explanation of what she was looking for in Sydney, Ambrose swept past her and followed the moving air currents that would lead to him a doorway. Umbridge squawked indignantly and hurried behind him. The tolling bell soon was absorbed into the chorus, like French horns in a grand symphony. Ambrose forced his eyes to come together as he stepped through the hallways.

"Hullo," said a voice to his left as he was passing by, and he froze in mid-step because he had sensed nothing. Turning, his eyes still forced together, he looked up at a flat portrait of a woman dressed in long, chestnut-brown robes and a white wimple. "I have not seen you before, but be this the Potter baby?"

Ambrose studied the portrait in fascination. It moved, it spoke, it understood. It sure beat the sloppy oil paintings in his office that Hestia gave him, on average, once every three weeks. He was the only one too polite to refuse her and tell her that she had no concept of color, shapes, symbols (even _he _knew that!), and should do everyone a favor by burning her numerous art supplies. (Contrary to most beliefs, Ambrose was not so much henpecked as he was polite; it was a tragic side effect of Ria endlessly doting upon him.)

He could not sense it beyond the voice he heard and the image he saw. "You are most unusual," he said in wonder as Harry turned to the portrait and proudly displayed the toy he held.

"I am merely one of hundreds here at Hogwarts," the woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"And you would be?"

"Margot Delaney. I was the ward nurse here a hundred years ago, caring for ill children and children with bumps, bruises, scrapes, and other childhood injuries."

"Ah."

"Be this the Potter child?" the woman asked again, peering at Harry in interest. Ambrose shifted the baby about in his arms until Margot could clearly see Harry's face. "He has his mother's eyes," Margot declared expertly. "Although the rest of him is certainly his father; we shall just have to hope that Harry did not inherit his father's mischievousness."

Ambrose ignored that. Everyone said he had Turk's patience and good nature. As far as he was concerned, a body was as a body was, regardless of where it came from. There was no point to believing someone received a characteristic trait from a relative. It made the whole point of uniqueness and individualism moot.

"Harry," said Umbridge, still resentful at being ignored, "will be who he will be. His own quirks and habits will be formed through experiences and imitating the behavior of selected role models, not because of some trait 'inherited' by a dead relative."

Ambrose turned to Umbridge, his eyes becoming unfocused. She took a nervous step backwards. "Yes?"

Ambrose forced his eyes to focus upon Umbridge. She glowered at him, the clipboard raised up high enough to hide her chin from his view. Her shoulders were tense and he could nearly taste how she was annoyed at him.

"I think I have just fallen in love with you," he said good-naturedly. From the horrified look that crossed Umbridge's face, he supposed she wasn't too pleased to hear this. Ambrose snatched up one of her hands. "Marry me!" he declared. With a squeak of surprise, she pulled her hand from his and scuttled a few steps backwards. Yes; he did seem to have that effect on the ladies; was it any wonder why he seldom made the effort to woo them?

Umbridge's face was red as she fanned herself with the clipboard. "Mr. Umbridge and my three children would have such a fit," she said breathlessly with a dazed expression in her eyes. He sighed and turned his back to her.

"All the good ones are taken or dead," he muttered regretfully as he left the hospital wing. He froze in mid-step at the sound of a cornered, very furious rattlesnake rattling its tail just before striking.

Patches was gracing Hogwarts with her otherwise silent, destructive presence.

* * *

Marcia, her elbow propped up on the synthetic wood table and her chin resting on the raised fist as her index finger on her other hand, rhythmically pushed the scroll-down button on the hand-held document viewer, stared bleary-eyed at the screen.

Too... much... information...

She was bored beyond the description of words. She had seen all of this before, although she would admit she certainly couldn't remember what exactly it was.

Scroll... Scroll... Scroll...

Urge to blow up something, rising!

The six-armed, neon-pink skinned alien whose three multifaceted eyes covered two-thirds of the area on his head watched Marcia without blinking. He didn't care that she wasn't really reading the information; all he cared was that she took the test and scored better than 87.5, and covered the cost of the license. He was being paid to sit and watch her and, in all honesty, it wasn't such a bad thing to be paid to do in bureaucracy.

* * *

It wasn't so much that Patches was immoral, disgustingly powerful, violent and cold, but that she was amoral and exceptional in a family that was notably powerful. She was not a rune demonling as her blood siblings were, but was instead something different. The demonic blood was there, but co-dominant with the _something_ that appeared to have been inherited from the Lord of Chaos – although, given the various genetic possibilities with the Lord of Chaos, he might have handpicked them without telling anyone.

Patches' abilities lay within manipulating Chaos and Order. Through Chaos are demons powerful, and that very Chaos that made them powerful was Patches' source of strength. With Order she could control as easily as Chaos, Patches masked her true nature of manipulative vindictiveness from her parents. As far as Turk and Ria were concerned, Patches was eccentric and somewhat addled, although this could hardly be considered _odd _in light of eleven other particular children. If she were a little more excessive in her violence, well, she _had_ been the apprentice to Uncle Gabby as a War Druid. (Never mind the fact that even _he_ considered her too blood-thirsty for the position.)

Now she slinked through the hallways of Hogwarts, her luminous jade-green eyes taking in all details of her surroundings. She saw the same aura as Marcia, saw the same levels of Chaos and Order in varying hues and tones. She also sensed the age and the history of Hogwarts as Ambrose, but had a better sensitivity to it, better ideas of what it meant.

When the Ada Bastion's shadow existed in the forest beyond, that was always, according to Patches, a good thing. Which meant it was probably a horrible omen for everyone else.

In short, Patches was an unnatural disaster looking for someone to happen to.

No matter. Mere mortals compared to Patches as grains of sand compared to mountains. Dear, cute, flat little Sydney was going to adopt a son. How quaint. A little nephew whose power rocked a dimension. That sounded delightfully promising! The Lord of Chaos approved and had, as he called it, put in a good word for Sydney's character.

That, as far as Patches was concerned, was her cue to step in "help" matters along. If the Beast could, so then could she. Contrary to what other people thought, Patches adored children so long as they occurred to everyone but her. Which is why she preferred dogs.

Patches flitted through Hogwarts, blending into her surroundings and completely passed unnoticed by the residing students, teachers, faculty, and ghosts. She could smell Ambrose's presence, but did nothing to hinder his movements as he undoubtedly sought her out. Let him look for her; she wouldn't set booby traps this time around for him.

The moving stairwells suddenly stopped working when she passed through. For some odd reason, a few of the tapestries on the walls caught on fire when she looked at them. She found the great library and wandered through its contents, filching books that caught her interest and tucking them away under her shirt for late night reading. She had to maintain her education; Mama and Da didn't cover the costs of eighteen tutors and eleven buildings that mysteriously burned down just so she could remain ignorant.

She wandered into the Restricted Section of the library (where, she noted with disappointment, it lacked risqué reading; how can a restricted section be considered restricted if it lacked risqué reading?) and a poltergeist who called himself Peeves. When he began singing obscene lyrics, she removed his ability to speak. When he tried to drop a book that looked like it could crush a small country on her head, Patches ruthlessly closed him in one of the more gruesome books that had earlier made an attempt to possess her. It shook in her hands as the poltergeist struggled to escape the horrors trapped within the pages, but she calmly placed it on the top of a shelf far in the back where he was unlikely to be found within the next century or three. After a few moments of thought, she also stacked several heavy tomes on top to assure the poltergeist didn't bounce off the shelf and down the aisle until he was found and released.

With that done, she _slid_ through the walls, coaxing the stone to part its structure just wide enough for her to move. Sydney wasn't the only one who could move anywhere she wanted (alas! Sydney was the only one who could move to any tim- — here was a good lot of mischief Patches could make with that sort of ability). On the other side of the library was a long hallway with various armors that turned their heads to look at her and salute as she swept past. A lovely touch that; nothing made Patches feel more special than garnering the attention that was her due. Somehow, flower petals sprinkled upon their armor, which suddenly gleamed from a hard polishing.

She hid in a dark alcove when children sprinted past her. One little boy had the terrible misfortune of his ankle collapsing beneath him, which caused him to fall forward and land on top of one of the girls with his hands in a very suggestive position across her - ah... Yes, the spirit of youth. Patches slipped through the stonewall just as an older male trotted up the hall to break up the quickly-erupting fight. Something about how Slytherins were indeed not attracted to butt-ugly Gryffindors no matter where their hands went or how stacked the Gryffindor was.

(Slytherin? Gryffindor?)

A few more movements up and down through the castle floors and to and fro between the walls, and Patches wound up within Dumbledore's chambers. Order here was quite strong and the singular presence that was pinnacle to the castle's core made its abode here. Look at all those lovely old portraits. What a shame it would be to lose one — oops! Didn't mean to catch that one on fire. Patches hurriedly smothered the flames and turned the frame around, hoping that no one had borne witness to her transgressions.

Patches walked across the room and tilted her head to the side to look at a ragged, molting phoenix asleep on its perch. It managed to open one eye at her and squawked shrilly before bursting into flame and ashes. Now _that_, she reasoned, was certainly not her fault. Patches backed away and looked at the various trinkets and knick-knacks that cluttered the chambers. On top of a tall kitchen stool was a ragged old hat. Patches bent at the waist for a closer look at it. In her eyes, it was old and in desperate need of a good washing, but in her Mind, threads of Chaos and Order in varying shades of color wrapped around it, a protective blanket that was the only thing keeping the hat from disintegrating into dust.

"Do you mind?" the hat asked. One of her eyebrows arched in surprise. "Staring is incredibly rude."

She straightened and tilted her head. "I do apologize," she said in her contra-alto voice, "but I have never seen something like you before, and I have seen many things in my life. What is the purpose of an old hat such as yourself?"

"What are you even doing at Hogwarts?"

She smiled at that. "Exploring."

"You are not parent, student, staff, or faculty so I shall ask the question again: what are you even doing at Hogwarts?"

"I came to see my little nephew."

"And who would that be?"

"Eh." She touched a finger to her lips and thought. "I'm not sure what his name will be since my sister is adopting him, but at this moment he is called Harry Potter."

If the hat had a face, it would have shown surprise. "The Potter child? The one who killed Voldemort?"

"I don't know. He killed someone everyone is calling He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who."

"And I imagine _You_-Don't-Know-Who."

"Certainly not. Sounds delightfully unpleasant, though."

"You _are_ an odd one."

"Normal is boring." Patches turned away from the hat and walked across the room to look at a fish tank that bubbled and the water turned different colors. She tapped on the glass and the glass tapped back.

"Are you allowed to be in Dumbledore's chambers?"

"Whose?"

"That's a no if _I_ ever heard one."

Patches blinked innocently. "Am I supposed to have permission to be here?"

"How did you enter these chambers? I heard no one come up the stairwell."

"I have my ways that usually do not involve any conventional means of entering rooms."

"That was not how I asked the question. I asked—"

"I must hurry along; my little brother is calling me!" Patches declared happily before slipping through the floors. She landed softly behind two figures, one tall and lean and the other short and plump, who were making their way through the very same hallway of armors that saluted her earlier. The moment her feet touched the stone floor, the tall and lean figure whipped around. It was Ambrose, and he was holding a squirming bundle of black hair and flailing toys. The plump person who turned around a few second after him was no one that Patches knew and, from the looks of her, was no one that Patches _wanted _to know.

"Ah, Patches!" Ambrose smiled brightly at her, his eyes jerking as they slowly came together to peer past the bridge of his nose. Patches nervously took a step back from him without thinking, because it went against her grain for someone to be relatively happy to see her, especially if that relatively happy person was also the same sort of person who regularly hid, avoided, and fought against her companionship. "You are just in time!" He hurried to her, leaning slightly forward from his momentum. Patches held her ground and refused to take a step back or lean away. She would not be intimidated merely because he was using reverse psychology.

"I have duties back at campus to attend to yet today that cannot be put off tomorrow." He boosted her arms forward with some moving air and dumped the squirming bundle into her arms. "You'll have to baby-sit Harry until Sydney comes back. She said that obtaining a license to stay here legally was urgent, so she left Harry with me." Ambrose turned to the plump woman whose face closely resembled that of a pasty frog's. "Mrs. Umbridge, this is my sister, Patches. Mama said we were to be here one at a time only so as not to overwhelm the Hogwarts," the look he cast Patches over his shoulder made it clear that he thought Patches was enough to overwhelm a small country, to say nothing of Hogwarts, "and she is just as capable as I as and answering any and all questions you may have." He turned to Patches and smiled in relief. That was not a good sign.

Mama had said no killing anyone, no tormenting, no debilitating "accidents," no manipulating or conning or conniving. That took away just about any fun that Patches could have. There _was_a loophole she was perfectly capable of maneuvering through, but that depended upon the situation should it arise.

"I shall take my leave now." Ambrose bowed to both Patches and Mrs. Umbridge. So polite; so condescending. Yuck. It turned Patches' stomach to witness how sweet, little, patient, intelligent, _powerful_ Ambrose kow-towed to everyone, particularly when these everyone were most often mere, weak mortals. It was Sydney's influence. Patches _knew_ she should have spoken up when Ambrose declared he was going to spend his puberty floating the Universe with Sydney.

Before she could stop him, Ambrose had somehow pushed Harry into her arms and was quickly walking away from them. Patches looked down; Harry looked up. A standstill of clashing wills met and the air seemed to crackle with electrical currents.

"So," said Umbridge, hefting her clipboard, "what is this Marcia Sydney like? Would you say she would make a good parent for someone like Harry?"

Patches broke eye contact with Harry and slowly smiled at Umbridge. A shiver ran up and down the length of Umbridge's spine as memories she had repressed from yesterday clambered to make themselves known. "What is Marcia like?" Patches asked carefully. "A beautiful question, indeed."

* * *

Marcia finished typing in the last essay answer and hit calculate on the bottom of the screen. The computer whirred for just a moment before the printer beside the neon-pink receptionist spat out a card with her score. The receptionist delicately picked it up and scanned the readout as Marcia logged off and set the computer in sleep mode. She walked over to the window and stood on her tiptoes to peer over the counter edge.

"88," the receptionist said, the voice slightly mechanical. It pushed the card across the surface to Marcia and rested a pen across the card's surface. Marcia quickly signed her name to it. The information would be inputted into her account and the license information for staying on Earth would appear on her ID. That done, she still had one last thing to do before she went back to Hogwarts. She Jumped once more to Winter's Ambit, into the small laboratory filled with plants. The Jump wasn't so bad this time around; there was only a light weakness around her knees when she came out of it.

Careful not to disturb any of the foliage and hugging the chilly walls, Marcia made her way around the room to a set of cabinets. The laboratory was the only place warm enough in the castle without having to worry about frost getting into the computer mechanisms. Marcia carefully tugged the waterproof briefcase from the cabinets and hugged it closely to her chest.

Next to her Cricket and Harry, Marcia's SuperCoop was her pride and possession. It had taken several centuries of time traveling and more than a few wounds to steal all the wonderful advancements and inventions to spruce it up. She had the most advanced computer on this side of the galaxy given its compact size, but then that wasn't too hard to brag about considering how she was still in the Realm of Fantasy. She quickly checked the briefcase for any leaks. While the laboratory was the warmest room in the entire castle, it also had the greatest humidity. Marcia was hardly excited at the thought of trading frost for rust.

Finished, she Jumped for the last time.

* * *

"After we managed to release her from the custody of the," Patches paused, and then said a word that was nearly impossible for human vocal cords to pronounce without being shredded, "Sydney was wise enough to stay out of trouble until just recently when she made the Lord of Chaos—" Patches paused again as Umbridge flinched violently, "—more upset with her than usual. I'm not too sure of what happened, but I believe it involves abandoning Grandmother in Los Vegas for some time. I have no idea how the Lord of Chaos punished her, but I do know that she was gone for some time and has only been back for about half a year or so. When asked, Sydney tends to shudder and mention something of munchkins."

Umbridge stopped writing. Her fingers had cramped around the quill so badly she needed her other hand to pry them free. "Well, that should be more than enough," she said to herself, frowning at the rather large pile of papers that were covered front to back with writing. Patches smiled innocently as she bobbed Harry up and down on her knee.

"Glad to be of service," she said pleasantly. She froze and listened to something only she could hear. "Ah, speaking of the demon — no pun intended — she has arrived!" She stood. "I must go. It was a _pleasure_ speaking to you." Hoisting Harry further up in her arms, Patches slipped through the walls and hurried down the passages until she nearly bumped into Dumbledore. "I have a present. Be sure to pass him on to his mother." She savored the word as a connoisseur would a mouthful of wine, dropping Harry abruptly into Dumbledore's arms. The flashing look within his eyes was all the warning she received before she had a pointy end of a wand nearly poking her in the nose. She smiled pleasantly at him. "Ah, ah, ah. I come in peace," relatively so, and at for the moment, "and besides, how would Sydney react should she learn you attacked her little sister?" Aside from a great deal of glee and delight, of course. But he needn't know that!

"You are trespassing in an area where you do not belong, nor are welcomed," Dumbledore replied solidly, his wand unwavering.

Patches smiled again at that. "Granted," she said softly, "I am not welcome anywhere, but I go where I will and there's nothing you can say about it." She dropped through the floor, and then slipped back into the Realm of Chaos to pass on her news to the Beast of Disorder.

Behind her, Dumbledore sighed as he slipped his wand back into his pockets. Harry yawned and cuddled up against him. "Oh, Harry. What have I gotten you into?" he wondered. Being only a baby who wasn't paying attention, Harry said nothing in reply.

* * *

Marcia lugged her briefcase with her as she passed various students. "Have you seen my brother? He's sort of tall, got red hair, crooked eyes, tattoo-like markings in his skin? No? Okay. How about a short, plump, evil-looking woman with a board? Yes? Where'd she go? That way? Okay." She followed random directions until she came across two students who were bickering about homework. "Hullo." She tugged at the sleeve of one of them, and got a nasty glare for it. "I'm looking for a short, plump, evil-looking woman who carried a clipboard. She should have my son, Harry."

The student screwed his eyes shut in concentration and said, "Oh, I remember her. She was with another woman, with really odd hair."

Something cold settled in Marcia's chest. "Really odd hair?" she echoed, her voice pitched higher than it normally was. The student nodded his head.

"Aye. She looked like a calico cat had died on her head, 'cause her hair was all of red and black and white and brown in various patches."

The coldness grew a little more. Marcia fought down the sense of panic. "Did she answer to the name of Patches?"

The student shrugged carelessly. "How was I to know? All I know is that a calico cat looks to have died on her head and that she was carrying a baby." He brightened suddenly. "What! Was that Harry Potter she was carrying?"

Marcia's grip on her SuperCoop tightened and she barreled down the hallway. It occurred to her later that she should have asked how long ago was it that he had seen Patches and Umbridge.

"Miss Runes!" She skidded to a halt and whipped around to look at the speaker. Dumbledore was exiting one of the rooms, carrying a sleeping Harry in his arms. "I was wondering where you had gone off to," he said in greeting as he held Harry out to her. She set the briefcase down and clutched Harry close. He awoke with a pained cry, wriggled around until he found a comfortable place to snuggle against her breastbone, and fell back asleep. "I understand that you had some errands to do," Dumbledore said, looking at Marcia over the bridge of his glasses.

"Uh. If I wanted to stay here, I needed the right licenses. The last thing I want is to be deported from this planet because I'm here illegally, and that needed to be taken care within the first twenty-four hours that I was here."

Dumbledore studied her for a few seconds, and then finally nodded. "I see. It's good to know then where you had gone to, even after the fact." Marcia squirmed uncomfortably; she knew a subtle reprimand when it was given to her, and it bothered that it should come from someone as nice as Dumbledore. He looked down at her briefcase. "And what is this?"

"This is my SuperCoop!" Marcia grinned proudly and held it up for Dumbledore's inspection. She would have proudly babbled its many wonderful components, but such technology would probably go over his head. "It's a computer and I needed to take care of some more things, but I figured there was no reason why I couldn't bring it."

"Is it Muggle technology?"

Marcia sighed. "This is probably a stupid question, but what's a Muggle again?"

"A Muggle," Dumbledore didn't seem to think the question was stupid, "is a person without magic who was not born from wizarding parents. There are children who are born a witch or a wizard from Muggle parents, and they are known as Muggleborn. Children from a wizarding family who are do not have magic are Squibs. Was this never explained to you?"

"Dunno. Can't remember." Marcia wished she had some paper to write the information down, since she knew she had asked the question before. The problem was mostly her malfunctioning language chip – it was making it difficult for her to understand and keep track of new languages and words. "Yeah. It's Muggle technology."

"Ah. Excellent. Except for one minor detail," Dumbledore added cheerfully.

"Um. Yes?"

He looked over his glasses at her once more, his eyes shining brightly with a good humor. "Muggle technology doesn't work in Hogwarts. It needs to be taken outside the castle's boundaries."

"Oh." She looked at Harry and then looked at the SuperCoop. "I could do that. I want a closer look at the forest out there." She pointed in the direction she thought the forest was. The humor disappeared abruptly from Dumbledore's eyes as the curve of his spine straightened.

"Are you sure it is wise to take Harry with you?" he asked carefully. "The Forbidden Forest is a place of wild magic and even wilder creatures."

"If Harry isn't safe with me, then he's not safe with anyone," Marcia said firmly. "I won't let anything happen to him."

"I understand and I believe you, but you are taking him directly into a place where danger is more substantial than here at Hogwarts. You are essentially courting disaster."

Marcia chewed on her bottom lip as she looked at Harry again. She was pretty sure that whatever lay in the forest couldn't possibly be as bad as Patches. She was fast and she could fight (a little), and even if she were still stiff, it wasn't impossible to grab Harry and Jump. "I'll be okay," she said firmly. "And so will Harry. He's safe with me."

Dumbledore still studied her with a serious air that made Marcia question her decision. "Very well," he said finally. "If we can trust you to protect Harry from Death Eaters then I'm sure you're quite capable of fending off dangers in the Forbidden Forest. Do be careful though," he added quickly. She smiled gratefully at him.

"With Harry? More than with my own life."

She tried not to think of how careless she usually was with her own life as she skipped out of Hogwarts and into the forest beyond. Passing people gave her different looks, and she didn't see Umbridge anywhere. That was a good sign. If Harry was with Dumbledore, then he certainly wasn't with Patches. If Patches came after Marcia, she could Jump to Winter's Ambit and tell Ria what was going on. Most likely, Ria would side with Marcia because Marcia was the one with the grandson, not Patches.

The forest wasn't so bad, as far as forests went. Granted, Marcia had seen some pretty awful forests in her lifetime, and compared to them, this was like a sunny stroll in a well-maintained city park. So what if the lichen looked like it was alive and staring at her with yellow eyes? And there were much worse things than the mushrooms that tried to gas her, or the oversized bats that tried to kidnap Harry.

After beating the bats off with her briefcase, Marcia tucked Harry close to herself and continued on, warily glaring at anything that looked remotely like a threat. _It wasn't as creepy as the Realm of Chaos, _Marcia told herself. _Not as creepy at all_. It did, however, come into a close second right behind Aunt Elizabeth's gardens. So far, so good though; no rabid cabbages with abnormally large teeth spied here, no sirree.

Marcia trekked through the forest until she found a clearing that was wide enough for her to see about in all directions in case anything came. In the far end were an old stump and the rotted tree trunk that lay beside it. Beyond that, the grass was waist high on her, but there was nothing else to shield an incoming creature. She set Harry down on the grass, opened the briefcase, and removed the SuperCoop. She inspected it for a few minutes, twice grabbing Harry when he tried to crawl off in search of trouble.

Having seen to it that it was clean and in good condition, she booted up the SuperCoop and then began to type in all the passwords that would allow her to not only enter the database, but also to keep it from self-destructing and turning the land in a ten-kilometer radius into a radioactive graveyard. Doing so in a timely manner left her concentration on Harry to slip. When she looked up, she could see a zigzagging trail of grass that was making its crooked way toward the old stump. She leapt to her feet and hurried through the grass. Halfway to Harry, she froze as she suddenly became aware of a high-pitched whistling of something falling fast to the ground.

Marcia looked up just in time to be struck by a meteorite.

As the ground rocked and the crater formed, Marcia's one thought was, _Holy cow! Bug-eyes was right!_

Harry ignored the mini-earthquake and kept crawling to the nice-looking albino man with the big, shiny sword and dragon's skull.


	8. Chapter Seven: Process of Adoption

It was with a great deal of pain and no small loss of blood that Marcia managed to drag her broken body up the crumbling edge of the crater in which she had been trapped. Oddly enough, the only thing that remained whole was her Kevlar-lined overjacket. Since it _had_ been Patches', Marcia supposed she shouldn't be surprised.

The edges of the crater gave way beneath her hands as she grasped desperately at it, trying to pull herself over the top. Her fingers caught and entangled within scraggly brush that somehow escaped resulting damage from the meteorite. Pulling herself up by it and clawing at the ground beside it with her other hand, Marcia managed to tug her upper body over the edge. She gasped desperately for breath. "H-Harry?" She would have tried Jumping, but she was too vulnerable against the pockets of space between matter, and no doubt she would collapse from using so much energy.

"There she is," said a voice that Marcia would never much prefer didn't exist. "Your mother has finally decided to grace us with her dubious presence."

Marcia pushed herself upright and squinted over the mounds of grass that had been flattened by the force of the meteorite's landing. The Lord of Chaos sat on the old tree stump with his legs crossed. Harry sat on his foot, clinging to the Lord of Chaos' hands and laughed gaily as the Lord of Chaos' foot swung.

"Ride! Ride! Ride!" Harry chanted.

"He's a darling," the Lord of Chaos said loud enough for Marcia to hear. He glanced her way to note her reaction.

"This is all your f-fault!" Marcia tried to drag a leg over the edge and couldn't make it. She nearly lost her grip to slide back down into the crater, but clung desperately to the edge. She didn't want to slide; her grip was weakening though and her vision was swimming. And the pain... _Owieowieowieowieowieowieowie_—

"What should we do with her?" the Lord of Chaos asked Harry amiably.

"Ride! Ride! Ride!"

"Mommy doesn't w-want to ride," Marcia said with gritted teeth. "Mommy wants out of th-this hole." _Mommy wants the Beast to go far away and bother Patches. And take the blasted pain with him. _

"We can't have everything that we want," the Lord replied sagely.

"Y-you get it."

"Yes, but I'm not you."

"So it's _I_ d-don't get everything I w-want."

"Got it in one," the Lord of Chaos said cheerfully as he stopped bouncing Harry. He gathered him up in his arms and stood gracefully. His robes swirled about his feet and his cape flared from a brief but fierce gust of wind. "Why is it," he began with a puzzled expression, "that every time we meet you happen to be in a painful predicament?"

She glowered at him sourly. "Dunno. S-suppose it's gotta do with Murphy's Law."

"Murphy's Law? I'm afraid I'm not quite familiar with that one."

"Anything th-that will go wrong, _w-will_." Marcia broke into a fit of hacking and coughing, most of which resulted in blood. Was that white chunk _her lung_? She glared at the Lord of Chaos, daring him to say something.

The Lord of Chaos blinked in wonder. "That's a law?" he asked in ill-disguised delight. "And a mortal figured it out?" He seemed unduly proud of himself, or perhaps that was Marcia's blurring vision... Nah. It was all him. Had to be.

With a shaky sigh, Marcia lost her grip on both reality and the edge, and slid backwards in to the crater's bottom.

Marcia next came to when someone grabbed her left foot and began to drag her to the top of the pit. Each jolt was like a painful long-crash on the side of a deserted planet devoid of life, hope, air, radio reception, and fast-food joints. "S-stop! What are y-you doing!" She kicked weakly, decided it wasn't worth the pain, and instead settled on glaring cross-eyed at the Lord of Chaos. He dropped her foot (Marcia squeaked in pain), and crossed his arms before himself. With her upper body angled upward and her head at the lowest point, Marcia could feel what little blood she had left rushing to her brain. Hah, and people said she didn't have one…

With a long-suffered sigh, the Lord of Chaos said, "You will catch your death of cold if I leave you here. Well, _you_ won't, but something to that expression, I'm sure. I rather _like _keeping Harry in your care." He paused a moment to regard Marcia with a hooded expression and she tried to crane her neck for a quick glimpse of Harry. "Such as it is," he added, just low enough to sound contemplative, but certainly loud enough that he knew she could hear it.

Marcia slid her elbows beneath herself and tried to propel herself into an upright position. _Woooo_. Look at the world spin! Stop, she needed a barf bucket! "So, you don't think I'd make a good m-mother for Harry, either, is that it?" Just where _was_ Harry?

He grinned. "No, I don't. Which is why you are _perfect_."

She scrunched her face up, tried to put on a brave front, and managed to sound like a spoiled child protesting against a well-justified punishment. "I refuse then."

The expression on the Lord of Chaos' face changed abruptly from good humor to something darker, more sinister. A chill raced up and down Marcia's spine, although she was sure at this point she didn't exactly have a whole one. Several bits of one, certainly, while everything else was scattered with the debris, but certainly not intact.

The Lord of Chaos was an odd mismatch of different parts, lumped together into a form that was as compliant and as shifty as a band of rubber. His small stature and young face could make a naïve individual think of him as a youth. His voice was that of a much older and much larger man, so deep as to resonate like darkness that had known light not from day, but rather light from the center of the world; almost too deep for the human ear to hear without accruing damage. His hands were hidden in gauntlets, although Marcia had seen them once. The skin of the left hand was wrinkled and drooped with many folds; the joints looked painfully swollen. The right hand was frail and thin, the skin stretched tightly and delicately over aged bones. When she had seen them, Marcia kept expecting them to shake or tremble, as the hands of old people often did.

Problem was, she had also seen those hands easily snap in half the neck of the best wrestler she had ever had the opportunity to run away from.

"I wouldn't recommend a refusal." The Lord of Chaos spoke quietly, yet Marcia could still feel the earth beneath herself tremble from quickening tension. His eyes were oddly shadowed as he crossed his arms before himself, each hand over the other elbow. Marcia's senses still stuttered from the meteorite strike, but she was pretty sure she caught the stench of brimstone and sulfur. "Should you dare," his left hand extended and the fingers flexed suggestively, "then I shall be _very_ _unhappy_."

When the Lord of Chaos was unhappy, entire civilizations toppled into ruins from natural disasters. Of course, when the Lord of Chaos was bored, random countries tended to be infested with plagues or epidemics. And when the Lord of Chaos was happy – well, hurricanes or earthquakes or tsunamis were usually involved. With the Lord of Chaos, one just tried to be agreeable and compliant, and hope that his attention was soon diverted elsewhere. "Yes sir," Marcia said meekly.

He smiled, once more the courteous gentleman who gave Ria chocolates and Patches violent video games that only worked aboard Marcia's Cricket. "I'm glad we have reached an understanding." He reached down, hoisted Marcia up by the front lapels of her overjacket, and carried her out of the crater. He dumped her unceremoniously and more than a little unkindly on the ground when they were a good few paces away. Marcia's eyes watered a bit and she blinked it away as she stared upward into unpleasantly bright sunlight.

With a coo, Harry's head popped into her vision as he leaned over. "Mmm?" He patted her nose, and then looked up in question at the Lord of Chaos. "Mum?"

The Lord of Chaos ignored Harry as he walked away to retrieve something else. Harry patted Marcia's chest, causing her to sit upright with a shriek of pain, and then collapse boneless upon the ground. Harry giggled and Marcia glared as the Lord of Chaos placed something beside Marcia with a greater gentleness from which he had treated her. "This is yours, I do believe," he said. From the corner of her eye, Marcia caught sight of her SuperCoop, still contained in its case. Her heart started to thump wildly. The Lord of Chaos turned his back to her and began to walk away, his form fading and his lines blurring to match the countryside's.

Marcia pushed herself up onto her elbows and craned her neck for a better look at her computer. Not a scratch marred the case, but despite how undamaged it may look on the outside, there was still the possibility that her SuperCoop was in several large, unpleasant chunks within the case.

With a squeal of delight, Harry crawled toward the SuperCoop. There was an obstacle in his way, but he was not the sort to be deterred. He grabbed two chubby fistfuls of Marcia's overjacket and pulled himself on top of her. Squeaking in pain, Marcia collapsed and snatched Harry off. With more force than was needed, she set Harry down on the opposite side. "There! Don't crawl on Mommy!"

Harry glared at her in such a way that Marcia immediately felt two inches tall.

"That's hardly exemplarity mother-behavior," the Lord of Chaos said in observation, half-turned to Marcia. His voice was as solid as his form was insubstantial.

"You didn't choose me on my mother-behavior!"

He slowly turned about until he faced Marcia fully. "Are you absolutely sure of that?" His head cocked curiously to the side. How can anyone be so pleasant when she hurthurthurt—

"You j-just said so!"

He tched very softly. A disapproving tone colored his deep voice for a brief moment as he shook his head and knitted his fingers together. As pliable as soft clay, his face held an angelic expression of mild concern and worry. "I explained a few short moments ago that you would make a perfect mother."

"D-did not!"

The upward, sneering twist of the lips, flaring of nostrils, and darkening around the eye brought a sinister overcast to the Lord of Chaos' face. That and the exploding scents of brimstone and smoke made Marcia flinch backwards. Harry gasped and dodged behind Marcia as the Lord of Chaos _swelled_ like his nature and form could not be contained in a single dimension as flat as this reality's. Blackness swirled around him, and something diseased and toxic gave it the sense of death that few things could. When colors began to take on personalities around the Lord of Chaos, there was a shifting from Lord of Chaos to Beast of Disorder.

Again, Marcia felt the subtle tightening of the earth beneath her, and a growing heat at her back as she lifted herself upon her elbows and tried to glare defiantly. Cowering behind someone seemed like a good idea right now, except Harry was too small to make her retreat not look comical. "I have said nothing of the sorts. Do not dare presume untruth with me."

Marcia was generally the first person to admit her sense of self-preservation wasn't the healthiest - mostly due to a sense of immortality that was justified in being, well, immortal. On the other hand, she had a very keen sense of disaster, and her brain knew imminent doom when it was hovering over her, rubbing its hands together in morbid delight. She began to sniffle. "Now you deliberately con-confuse me!"

"Am I?" It could have been a question of surprise, if it weren't for the mocking voice. He stepped closer to her, and the ground began to tremble as the tension inched past control. The heat continued to grow at her back, smoldering and burning against her skin. The smoke's scent altered slightly, as if a new chemical had been tossed onto the smoke's source. "Ah, but Sydney, would that not require _effort_ on my part?"

She stared up at him, too frightened to think of a comeback. Her mouth, on the other hand, operated separately from her brain. "But—but—but—" The Beast of Disorder suddenly lashed out with his hand. She flinched backwards, but his hand stopped a mere inch from her face, and it filled her vision. She felt sweat bead at her forehead as the heat increased. The hand was broad at the palm and the fingers were long and tapered; skin stretched taut – ah, the right hand. Much better to have near her face than the left. This had, she admitted in the deeper parts of her brain, to be the closest she had ever actually _seen_ it. The fingers flexed and slowly it drew closer. She pushed herself away to look over the hand at the bemused expression on the Beast of Disorder's face. She could feel her scalp tingling from the heat now as it suddenly increased tenfold.

"Sydney," he began slowly, savoring the moment and allowing amusement to color his voice, "do you realize your hair is on fire?"

"F-fire?" It took a long moment for that word to sink past the sparks, the smoldering black strands, and the unusually thick cranial bone, before finally penetrating her language center. The translation chip buried within burped.

"So," he continued along his line of amusement, "is Harry. Although _that _comes as no grand surprise."

Ignoring him, Marcia forced herself in an upright position and twisted her aching upper body around. Harry was glaring over her shoulder at the Beast of Disorder, his mouth pursed and his cheeks bulging as blue-red flames licked against the surface of his rune-etched skin. The lightening-shaped scar on his forehead was black in stark contrast against the red-lined glowing white runes. "No!" he screamed when Marcia grabbed him and then dropped him like a hot potato when the skin on her hands sizzled. She began to beat at her own head, and decided it was too painful to move. She flopped over like a fish giving one last pathetic hop for the sake of life.

"Ouch!"

"You'll live," the Beast said with a touch of scorn in his voice. Not without another attempt on his part, such as it was. The Beast of Disorder backed away from Marcia, but she didn't see because she squeezed her eyes shut and kept them that way. The light was doing funny things, like producing a miniature squad of Patches to reap havoc inside her head. The scent of brimstone left very quickly, but the scent of burnt hair, now clear in the air with Chaos gone, was very sharp in her nostrils.

"Ugh." It seemed like a good thing to say. The only thing, really. A small hand smacked her face a few times, and babbling, Harry turned about on his no-longer-diapered bottom and tried to crawl off. Marcia's arm shot out and entwined around his waist. "Uh uh. No. Stay here." She took a deep breath, held it until she began to feel more lightheaded than normal, and then released it. Hair could grow back. Muscles could regenerate. She would get her flexibility and speed back in due time. Again.

She opened her eyes just in time to feel something descend up on her. The head hovering over hers blotted out light overhead.

"Oh. It's you."

She squeezed her eyes shut and wished it far, far away. Then she opened one eye and saw it still there.

"Here I thought something had been left here to rot." There was a brief moment of contemplation. "Although that assumption may be more accurate than I first suspected."

Marcia forced herself into a sitting position. "What are you doing here?" she asked Snape as he turned a dark eye upon Harry and they commenced to glare at one another like two alpha males meeting on foreign ground. "Can't you see I'm doing j-just fine?"

Harry was the first alpha male to look away, his lips twisted in a pout. His eyes fell upon a singed moth and he snatched it up in a clumsy fist. "I came," Snape said as he turned the dark eye on Marcia, "first because of a large object falling from the sky, and second because I smelled smoke. Do you realize that it's a crime to start fires in the Forbidden Forest? It's the last place of Wild Magic in the United Kingdoms, and so to deliberately sabotage it would get you tossed into Azkaban."

Harry stuffed the moth in his mouth and chewed, making a face at the flavor, or perhaps the texture. "I'll keep that in mind next time," Marcia snapped as she flung her arms about until she managed to roll onto her stomach. Moving carefully and gritting her teeth against the pain, she pried her case open and powered up the SuperCoop. She began, once more, entering the many passwords. She was keenly aware of Snape studying her, of Harry looking for something else to eat, and of how her hair was smoldering. It was, Marcia considered, a very undignified moment in her life.

Getting past the passwords, the firewall, the virus updates, and enough sabotaged traps to blow up a small chunk of the galaxy, Marcia clicked and typed until she logged into the IDLO's site. She diddled about until she brought up for the forms and began to type away. The characters of her keyboard were not English, but rather squiggles and dots that only she, or anyone else educated in the Universal Coding, understood. Instead of numbers, there were Roman numerals, but at least there remained the normal punctuation keys, although she admitted she didn't like them. (Marcia figured she was above such things like punctuation and capitalization.)

After a while, Harry snuggled against her side and fell fast asleep, and Snape made off into the forest, bored with her and her Muggle technology. Marcia heard him leave, but didn't see the disdainful sneer on his face he cast her and Harry. A few hours of filling out forms, and Marcia could feel the most severe damage wrought upon her body had been repaired. She twitched in pain as bones and muscles rearranged themselves back into the form she had been immortalized in.

With the forms finished and sent, most of the pain leaving her only a bad headache and great thirst, Marcia logged off her account, closed down the computer, and firmly locked it in its case. She rolled over on her back and winced. Harry stirred a moment, and then murmured something undistinguishable before falling back asleep. "I feel like that, sometimes," she said to no one in particular. With the exception of the formal adoption being wrapped up by the wizards and their fat social worker, Marcia was finished with everything.

"All I have to do now," she told the air, since Harry wasn't listening and talking out loud made her feel better, "is find a good house to live in." The air said nothing in reply, but if it did she'd snatch up her son and gadget and make a desperate exit.

Marcia didn't think of herself as a realist, but she knew that she couldn't stay at Hogwarts forever. Maybe they could get a house in a wizard town or something. Maybe she should look more into who is this Petunia Dursley. Finding out about Azkaban might be a good idea, just in case, what with her luck and ability to make small problems turn into civilization-threatening crises, she got tossed into the place.

She waited until more of the damage was repaired. Harry continued to nap. All Marcia could do was watch the sky, catalogue various different scents, and hope predators didn't decide to venture along and make an unexpected meal out of Harry and her. She smiled at that thought; it would be just the thing, that the little baby who survived some Evil Dark Lord's attack should meet his end in the stomach of a wolverine or something equally gruesome. Not that she had ever actually seen a wolverine, except for that one demon that had enough fleas for a good-sized army and several circuses to boot.

The sun was dipping low when both Harry and Marcia stirred. Marcia looked at Harry; Harry looked at Marcia. She frowned suddenly when she realized Harry's state of undress. "Say, I think someone needs a bath." Harry wailed at that announcement and tried to crawl off.

He continued to scream in protest as she packed him under one arm, the SuperCoop under the other, and hauled both back to Hogwarts. Flames spurted now and then, but Marcia's Kevlar-lined overcoat was an excellent guard. People stared as she marched purposefully through Hogwarts. She nodded good day to Dumbledore when she passed him, ignored McGonagall, and made sure her suite's door was locked firmly behind. The SuperCoop was gently placed on the bed, and Harry was stuffed into the fireplace. Harry stopped crying and sniveled as Marcia puttered about the room, gathering together a large tin tub, a few scraggly towels (she frowned at these and made a mental note to stay at some nice hotel in the near future), and roamed through the _still_-floating red wagon until she emerged with pink bubble bath. She twisted the cap off to take a whiff, and got more than a nostril full of Eau De Rose. Coughing, she replaced the cap and set it next to the tin tub.

Aided with a conveniently placed bell, she summoned one of the little green men and requested the tin tub to be filled with hot water. With a snap of his fingers and a dirty look at Marcia (_now_ what did she do? Surely she hadn't offended anyone besides Umbridge yet), water instantly filled to the brim. She poured a tiny bit of bubble bath into the water, stirred it enough to get a few bubbles, and then turned to Harry.

Upon seeing her approach, Harry's lower lip protruded and he retreated to the far corners of the fireplace. "Hey, Harry, it's okay," Marcia said in what she hoped to be a soothing voice as she stiffly knelt down before him. She smiled and held her arms out. "Just wanna make you clean, comfortable, and aaaaaallll better, neh?" Harry hissed at her, and Marcia snatched her hands back on reflex as smoke rose from his ears. He glowered at Marcia and Marcia glowered back with her hands on her hips, refusing to back down to a baby. "This isn't going to work while you're doing this, Harry. It won't take very long, and I would rather have to put up with you being upset yet clean, instead of being nice yet dirty."

Harry hissed again, and Marcia found herself contemplating the many pros and the very few cons of a dirty Harry. She swiftly waved that away. "Harry, I've faced worse things than you. Like the Lord of Chaos. I'm not scared of a few blisters." Harry crouched down and pouted, still not budging. "You may find this amusing, but I don't. I think you're being a _bad_ baby, and you're supposed to be a _good_ baby."

"NO!" Harry pounded the stone fireplace floor with a chubby fist. "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!"

"Now, that's enough of that, little man!" Marcia said firmly as Harry continued. "You're taking a bath and that's final." Thus declared, Marcia reached into the fireplace to grab Harry. The wall of flames that came rushing towards her made her squeak in horror and skip to the other side of the room to save what little remained of her hair and eyebrows. She took refuge behind the tin tub as the waves whooshed past her.

When the flames quelled a few moments later, Marcia peaked over the tub's edge. Harry was cooing to himself as he batted a flame that hung suspended in mid-air. How did one salvage one's dignity and authority after that?

Marcia nibbled the inside of her lip as she turned the question about in her mind. As a mother, she was trying to set clear boundaries and not let Harry decide differently. It was not good if Harry thought he could get away with anything; it merely taught bad habits, and she well knew what sort of trouble _that_ would produce. Harry needed stability; he needed a mother who didn't always back down and didn't always change her mind.

Of course, no one said anything about reverse psychology.

"Well, if you won't take a bath, then I will," Marcia said loudly. Harry ignored her as she swiftly stripped and climbed into the tub. Water sloshed over the edge and ran across the floor. She scrubbed dead skin and dried blood away vigorously, hoping to wash away her frustrations and worries. The heat from the water soaked into her tight body, and she found herself relaxing into it, smiling happily in the fleeting moment of pleasure. The little crow demon inside of her cawed happily and made her splish-splash like most birds were wont to do in their cute little cement baths. More water sloshed on the floor, and it crept closer to Harry. He stopped playing with his fire long enough to eye the water with a small bit of trepidation, but otherwise paid it and his mother little heed.

"This is really, really fuuun," Marcia called over to Harry. He ignored her. "Weee! You don't know what you're missing." He continued to ignore her. Marcia could feel her authority running off with a wicked glee akin to the Lord of Chaos'. With a stubborn purse of her lips, she scooped up a washrag, soaped it liberally, and then carefully began to scrub her skin. Small, lesser-charred areas were rubbed until dead skin flaked away, revealing new, patches of delicate skin. The more severely-burnt areas would need longer to heal. Her hair... Marcia ran her hands through the crinkly, dried mass. Strands had literally been melted together into misshapen lumps. She sighed in dismay as she thought about having to get a haircut.

She looked at her hands, contemplating the length of fingers, the size of the bones, the wrinkles, the dimples, the lines. There were all sorts of stories her hands could tell; they had driven pilot ships, shuttles, jumpers, and once even the cruiser of a prince (yes, the prince had been as dumb as a box of rocks; yes, the prince had been very minor; yes, she had actually commandeered the ship because she and her fellow Shaktian mercenaries needed a ride after the terrorists they were chasing, since no one but no one stole _anything _from Shaktians and got away with it; but, hey, at least it was a prince). They had wielded weapons from the small stones she had tossed at rabid geese, to detonators that could set off bombs powerful enough to blow away a good-sized chunk of a galaxy. Now, in her hands was the life of a baby, the representative of hope to a world she had never before penetrated and was getting hopelessly lost. In her hands was the responsibility, well-being, and care of someone who could one day be a stronger demon than she.

And, much to her ever-growing dismay, she found she didn't like it.

Marcia didn't know why the Lord of Chaos was involved with this one individual in this one dimension. Was it because of her? Were that so, would it be in everyone's best interests, including and especially her own, to leave Harry with someone else? Did she dare continue this path of being a mother when the Lord of Chaos was likely to interfere with not only Harry, but also the Wizarding World? Or, perhaps, he had been more closely involved than normal because of What's-His-Name.

Marcia rubbed her temples, trying to ease away the increasing pressure within her skull. The thoughts chased round and round in her mind, each following at the heels of another. No questions were answered; answers she might have thought up were disposed of for their inadequacy. She didn't want any part of this. The Lord of Chaos had been ignoring her since she rescued Los Vegas from Ilene, and she had been liking that. She had been enjoying the peace and freedom with exploring dimensions at her own pace, rather than being locked down inside the more unpleasant ones. (She would never, ever forget that one where she became _painfully_ aware of carbon and oxygen not existing.)

This was more than she can handle. Marcia turned on her side and peered over the tub's edge at Harry. He looked up from his playing and grinned at Marcia. A sudden spark in the air caused her to flinch backwards, but it was merely the display of elicited chemical reactions in a colorful and flashy manner. Harry giggled and clapped his hands. "It's very nice, Harry," Marcia said in what she thought would be a good, motherly tone. She felt her resolve waver as she watched Harry continue playing with fire, saw the runes on his body glowing dully in the same color as the flames he made dance, spin, and warp in the air.

She wasn't sure anymore if she wanted to be a mother. She wanted to leave, just give it all up. Someone else could take care of Harry; they would ever be able to find her. Family was expecting it of her; after all, it would be out of character and out of personality for her to actually _be_ Harry's mother, much less mother to anyone.

But she had _promised_ James. She had said it wasn't fair for everyone to expect her to be so irresponsible, except it really was, because she never really did much otherwise.

The glow of new motherhood was quickly fading. Marcia struggled against her nature and long-ingrained bad habits. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't a new leaf she turned over _stay_ turned over! Responsibility, Marcia considered, was an unpleasant burden - much like a conscious was.

No; as much as she wanted to, she couldn't give up on Harry. She didn't want to abandon him in a world too unfamiliar with his kind and abilities; especially not after what she just read about dark, powerful forces doing hideous things to the innocent. Someone had to protect, raise, and teach Harry. And even if she wasn't exactly the best choice, even if she probably, in all reality, wouldn't have been James' first choice under other circumstances, she was, at this moment, in this here and now, the only choice.

Well, all things in due time, she supposed. Marcia forced herself to finish bathing as the water became lukewarm. Wrinkled and still sore, Marcia emerged from the bath. Her jacket was still in one piece, only slightly singed around the collar. Marcia made a mental note to ask Patches from where it had been fetched. She quickly found a few clothes tucked away (she didn't remember bringing any clothes; perhaps Dumbledore had one of the little green men place them in her room) and dressed in those. With a guarded glance sent Harry's way in such a manner that she hoped he didn't notice, Marcia decided it was in her best interests to dress in the jacket again.

She summoned another one of the green little men—this time, clearly female—and had the bathwater changed. Sending another dirty glance Marcia's way, the little green woman sniffed in disdain and snapped her fingers. The water was instantly clean, and then the woman was instantly gone. Marcia wondered if the reason why she was earning dirty looks was because she was closely to them in stature and they figured her to be a long-lost relative. She pushed away that thought as she turned to Harry.

Sensing something was wrong, Harry looked up from where he had been playing with his fire. He flinched back and blew a raspberry at Marcia as she rolled back her sleeves and cautiously approached him. She had a feeling it was going to be like the Great Bloody Fiasco, except with a baby, water, and bubble bath. How embarrassing.

Marcia pounced. Harry screamed. Fire flashed.

Somewhere in the Realm of Chaos, in the deeper, darker depths of a forest that was surprisingly healthy, given the many possibilities of what it could be, the Lord of Chaos swept through the vast halls and corridors of the Ada Bastion. At one time it had been called the Pillar of the World, for it lay in the very center of the Universe and its height rose to penetrate through ever layer of dimensions. Doorways led to different realms, different worlds, different dimensions, each as strange and as fascinating as the other, all very similar, and yet all very different. Doors tended to disappear and then reappear, asserting themselves in another spot, all in the blink of an eye and a single instant. Some corridors branched off into the Past; others, the Future.

The Lord of Chaos eventually stopped at one door and stood on tip-toe to peer through the little glass window set near the top. After a moment of consideration, he pressed a fingertip against the glass and blew breath upon it. The layers of Chaos surrounding him like mist rising from a lake's surface on a late autumn morning, wafted and slipped through the glass with his breath. He watched a few moments more, and then smiled. The cruel tilt of his eyes and the twist of lips transformed his face into something hideously grotesque, ageless, and endless. The Beast of Disorder reared its ugly head for a mere moment.

The look was gone as quickly as it had come, and the Beast was suppressed once more beneath layers of deception. He turned from the window and continued his way down the hall. The trailing mists of Chaos twisted and swirled into a form of a snake rearing upright to strike at the window. With a wag of his fingers, the form of the snake convulsed, as if fighting an invisible grip, and then the Chaos broke apart and faded away.

As the Lord of Chaos rounded a corner, orange light flooded through the window, followed by a surprised squeak of, "For the last time, Harry, leave the hair alone!"

* * *

**author's notes:** That chapter took much longer to get out than the others, and yet I really have no other excuse except that my computer gave up the ghost, took the wrong turn toward reincarnation, and got lost on the way to the afterlife. This particular chapter has taken on a decidedly darker note than the rest of the story, not too much of humor as it normally is. When dealing with the darker nature of Chaos and with one's less-than-perfect features, it can get a bit dismal. I just have to get Snape to agree to being arrested; he hasn't been liking that idea. 

Just as a side note, I would like to make mention of how to pronounce Marcia's name - it is Latin, so it's "Mar-CEE-Ah." This is because I had a conversation with a reader about it and she kept pronouncing it as "Mar-Sha,", just like she mispronounced Hermione and Lucius Malfoy's names (and those were corrected hastily, as well). I'm a bit of nitpicker when it comes to pronouncing Latin in general.

I would like to thank everyone for reviewing; opinions and thoughts are always welcome. Now, to answer some questions one of you had:

_Can Harry PLEASE stay with The Lord of Chaos for at lest maybe 6 months or a year??  
Not right now but later on in the story like o teach him to not just be all-trusting & kind, but also be smart & be wariy about his friends & how much he tells them._

This will be a bit difficult because the time between the Realm of Chaos and the Realm of Reality is very radical. For every hour that passes in the Realm of Chaos, a full day passes in the Realm of Reality (assuming that these full days are twenty-four hours, since Marcia could mention that some days can last as long as a few weeks on some planets). I've actually had a different character from a different story stay in the Realm of Chaos for six months; when he came back, he was twelve years unto the future and, needless to say, very shocked. Because of the time differences, one has to be very careful when visiting the Lord of Chaos.

_Why is Dumbeldor telling everyone that Harry is a demon?? souldn't they ba careful about who to trust??_

The reason why Dumbledore is telling everyone is to cut rumors off at the knees. Voldemort's demise will make news; because the investigators would release information about Voldemort's death to the public because everyone is so tickled pink with the guy being dead, finally, everyone already knows that the fire that destroyed Voldemort was unnatural. Uhoh; the Wizarding World has already lived with unnatural and dark forces for many years, and even yet still bears the offspring of such. Rather than having wizards and witches see Harry as something evil, Dumbledore is trying to use him as an icon for good, also hoping that this could pave the way for acceptance on the behalf of those other Halflings. This does become a very important issue in the Halflings Arc. Lastly, there is the matter of what Harry will become and who is adopting him. Marcia, as we all know, isn't human; that will be picked up very easily by others. Why on earth would one want someone as inhuman as Marcia to adopt the Ray of Shining Hope of the Wizarding World, unless it's emphasized that the two are so alike in kind that it is the Ray of Shining Hope's best interests to be with this person? When Harry becomes an adult demon, his runes will become permanent in his skin. We see with Ambrose, who is an adult demon, that his runes make it clear that he is different. If no one knew what Harry was until he became an adult demon, which would cause a whole other can of worms to open up. Better it is then that people see Harry for what he is and become accustomed to the inevitable, rather than be surprised and betrayed to the truth.


	9. Chapter Eight: Process of Adoption

When Marcia finally emerged from the little room, Harry was freshly bathed, dried, dressed in what she considered to be a cute sailor suit (it even came with a hat that, she was pleased to note, gave Harry a very handsome, raking air; "You'll be quite the lady's killer," Marcia told him cheerfully, steadfastly ignoring his sulk and the burns on her arms) and tucked securely under her arm. It was early the next day. She had had food delivered by the little green men, stuffed Harry until he fell contentedly asleep, and then ate steadfastly through most of the night when she was sure her GI tract and liver had healed enough to survive a steady onslaught of nutrition.

The greatest of the damage had roughly regenerated. When she wasn't eating, she moved herself slowly and painfully through a series of stretches and exercises that she sort of quit doing when she no longer attended any of the Great Bloody Fiascos. With lost time to make up for, she complained only for a little bit, happy to pin the blame on everyone but herself.

It wasn't until she finished and went looking for clean underwear that Marcia learned she hadn't any. Sure, it was all and well that the little green men had supplied shirts and pants, even if the pants were too long and all she needed to convert the shirts into dresses was a sparkly belt, but how was she to wear them without panties? (Marcia did not worry about bras; she had nothing to support, after all.) Luckily, her red overcoat covered most available skin, was bullet-fire-plasma-radioactivity-acidproof, and could be cleaned with soap and water. As long as she didn't bend over, there was no problem of flashing people. However, there were more issues to be addressed.

Marcia had puttered around the room before finally loosening one of the bed's curtains. Slinky, shiny, she cut a long strip from it (hoping no one would notice until she was long gone), and then wrapped it around her head turban-style. That would have to do so long as she was unable to get a haircut. When Harry awoke, she dressed him as well, then hauled him and her SuperCoop off in search for Dumbledore. She needed to set up accounts and housing and maybe even a job somewhere close by, but before she could, Marcia figured that it was best she had underwear and a haircut. First impressions were still the best, even if she hadn't quite figured out how to successfully _not_ turn said first impressions into disasters.

Around the area of the moving staircases (she wondered, oh so briefly, how upset everyone would be if she tried to pry one apart to see what made it tick — sort to speak, of course), she ran into someone with greasy black hair. "Where's Dumbledore?" Rude of her not to give Snape a more cordial greeting, but Marcia didn't like the scents that still persisted in clinging to him. He gave her a look frigid enough to put out Harry's flames when being given a bath. The man, she had to admit, was quite talented when it came to looking unpleasant.

"With other children," Snape replied snidely. "I distinctly remember that thing on your head once being a bed curtain."

"But I need to see him." She decided it best not to defend her choice of hair accessories. It may help her avoid being mocked in the future as the only person to have plastic-like hair.

"This is class time and he is currently teaching a class. If you hadn't noticed, this is a school. Dumbledore is a teacher. It stands to reason that his responsibilities in other areas do not leave much room to cater to your every whim."

"But—" Marcia broke off with what she was going to say, and then eyed Snape. "And I suppose McGonongal is also teaching a class."

"McGonagall."

"Her too. And Bill? Bill Weasely," Marcia added at Snape's blank expression. At the twisted sneer, she figured they knew one another. Marcia looked at Harry, and then she looked at Snape.

"He is a student. Unless he is doing something that his ilk would do, he _should _be attending classes."

Marcia didn't even bother sorting through that sentence. She sniffed the air experimentally. Snape could probably do to wash his socks, but there was no change in his odor from the time they met in the tower room. She could do worse, she supposed. But, no, she was Harry's mother now - time to be his mother instead of passing him off to someone else. "Well, if you see them before I do, tell 'em that I have to get a haircut and a house to live in."

Before Snape could make a snide remark to which she undoubtedly would never think of a comeback, Marcia Jumped with a random landing point in mind.

Damn it - she didn't mean to aim for the men's lavatory!

* * *

If nothing else, at least the lavatory was located within a shopping district somewhere in London. Marcia tucked herself and Harry away in a corner and ignored the passing people, their accented voices ringing through the air. Some of the stores still had their Halloween decorations strung up. Marcia, without qualms, snitched a large rubber spider with which Harry could to entertain himself as Marcia puttered about on her Supercoop, ignoring the questioning looks people gave her.

It took only a few minutes to open a banking account, transfer some galactic funds into it, and convert the funds into local currency. She was pleased to see that the exchange was very nicely done. Since the current Earth didn't have too many gizmos and gadgets in which to fascinate Marcia, she believed she could budget her money and survive nicely enough without the need of government welfare. A part-time job might very well pad her income, but she could wait until Harry was older. Marcia delighted in the idea of being a stay-at-home mother.

That finished, Marcia did a quick scan of people living in the United Kingdoms for a Petunia Dursley. Much to her delight, only one person showed up; thank goodness this Petunia didn't have an atrociously common name. Marcia didn't feel up to visiting and shaking up sixty different people.

As Marcia was tucking the SuperCoop inside its case and Harry was becoming hungry, someone tapped her on the shoulder. Marcia turned to face someone arrayed in a hodge-podge of mismatched clothes and colors. Being a firm believer in the more colors the more fashionable a person was, Marcia thought the getup to be rather snazzy. The person was also male, tall, and a little on the hefty side.

"May I help you?" Marcia asked politely.

"Yes, ah, is that the boy who survived?" the man asked eagerly, peering over Marcia to gawk at Harry.

"Survived what?"

The man coughed into a fist, not moving his eyes from Harry. "You-Know-Who."

"Oh - What's-His-Name? Yeah, this is Harry Potter." Marcia bent and lifted Harry up so the man could take a closer look. Harry squirmed and fussed in her tight grip, but Marcia didn't want to tell anyone that Harry had been snatched from her arms while she was proudly displaying him as any other proud mother would.

"Amazing!" The man didn't reach out and touch Harry, but he bent closer when he caught sight of the lightening-shaped scar on Harry's forehead. "This is him. Our savior." He looked at Marcia then with shining eyes, and then hastily wiped them clean. "Thank you," he said breathlessly. "My wife and children were killed by that _monster_. Are you to be his older sister?"

Marcia yanked Harry back into her arms, protectively cuddling him close. "I'm his mother," she snarled.

The man was taken aback at her sudden viciousness, but being mistaken as the babysitting older sister (or, sometimes, the younger sister being babysat) irked Marcia in a manner that few things not involving Patches or the Lord of Chaos did. "Oh, I - I'm dreadfully sorry," the man said hastily, wringing his hands with worry. "I didn't mean to offend - you are terribly short," he added quickly, as if being vertically-challenged was an acceptable reason for mistaking her for the wrong age.

Marcia sniffed, reluctant to accept the man's apology. She was, after all, old enough to count for her own civilization, if one didn't remember that she technically didn't exist. But as she watched the man squirm in his embarrassment, she did have to consider he was probably careless in his grief of dead family. "It's an easy thing to do," she admitted grudgingly. The man smiled his relief, but hurried away before another blunder was committed.

Thereafter throughout her shopping, people did randomly stop and look at Harry, always inquiring if this was the boy who survived, the boy who lived, the little rascal who finally popped one over What's-His-Name. Marcia had no idea how she was randomly spotted in the crowd, seeing as how the crowd was usually twice as tall, or how these various witches and wizards could instantly recognize Harry as their savior. Marcia once ducked into the women's lavoratory to check herself in the mirrors for a sign pasted on her back proclaiming Marcia to be Harry Potter's babysitting sister-to-be.

Marcia suspected that anyone else would adore the fanfare and attention they received by being so attached to Harry, but the glamour lost itself when a couple of young women followed her into the dressing room while Marcia was trying on undergarments.

Marcia finally escaped through a third-story mall window with her bags, Harry and his rubber spider, and the SuperCoop on tow.

Marcia's next stop was a barbershop, but the only thing that could be done to rescue her hair was a crew cut, which would have sent Marcia into a screaming fit if she didn't have a son for whom to hold herself up as a good example. Marcia compensated by purchasing a large hat decorated with various ruffles, bows, and the most gorgeous Austrian crystals that sparkled with her every move. The chances of being mistaken as a little boy instantly diminished to almost nothing.

Marcia briefly wondered if buying a bra and stuffing it extensively would also help diminish the chances of being mistaken as a little girl, or if she would just look like a little girl desperately stuffing her bra to appear older.

Despite the hat, she and Harry were still recognized. Marcia began to run every time someone started to randomly stop her on the street, her bags, SuperCoop, and hatbox bouncing as Harry babbled his babyspeak and chewed on the plastic spider.

At a nearby outside cafe, Marcia bought sandwiches, soup, and tea. She helped Harry with his soup (good stuff - best not to let it go to waste) and was stuffing the extra crackers into a pocket for a later snack when Nandin, nose in the air as he followed the scents of cream and crow, discovered her.

"What are you doing here?" Marcia demanded as Nandin abruptly seated himself in an empty chair beside her and sucked up the cream she still planned on using in her tea.

"Mama sent me to check on you. She was a little worried when Grandmother said Grandfather came to visit you."

"I exist still."

"Well, technically you don't-"

"I know! I know!" Marcia looked from Nandin to Harry, who was munching toothlessly on a soggy cracker. He appreciated the crackers more than the soup, but as long as he was happy (and limited with his messes) than so was Marcia. There was a long silence as Nandin regarded Marcia and Harry.

"Why are you so cranky today?" Nandin asked suddenly. Marcia grumped and said nothing. "Is it because of your hair? I know that you hate short haircuts. Nice hat, by the way." There was another long silence. "What _did _happen to your hair?"

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Did Grandfather-"

"I _don't _want to talk about it."

"Has this anything to do-"

"I _do not_ want to talk about it!"

Nandin shrugged emotionlessly, and then swiped a cracker from her. "What're you up to?"

"Just bought underwear," Marcia said helpfully, pointing at one of her purchases. "Going off to see Harry's aunt; got some questions to ask her about Harry's mom, and then I'm going to look for a house." She brightened with a smile as a plot formed in her mind. "Say, Nandin, will you-"

"No."

"But I-"

"No, Sydney."

"I haven't-"

"Whatever mischief you want to get me involved in, I want nothing to do with it."

In Marcia's past experiences, she knew that tears and guilt would not work for Nandin. Alas, the terrible side effects of having a cat demonling for a brother was the more-than-usual lack of sympathy toward a sister's plight. As Marcia was nibbling on her lip and trying to figure out the best way to ask Nandin to protect her from the various witches and wizards interested in Harry, she heard someone squeal in delight and then scoop Harry out of his booster seat.

"This must be him!" the grandmotherly woman declared as she cuddled Harry close. She was dressed in a somber black, high-necked dress, a fuzzy scarf, and a hat that was larger and gaudier than the one Marcia wore. It took Marcia a moment to work past the wave of feminine greed, but she finally managed when she realized the hat was nearly as tall as she.

"Um, excuse me?" Marcia stood on her chair to peer over the old woman's shoulder as she turned her back to Marcia and cradled Harry close.

"What an unlucky child," the woman said with a cluck of dismay.

Nandin nodded his head in agreement as Marcia squawked a protest. The woman finally took notice of the two others. "I heard Harry Potter's mother-to-be was a short woman," the older woman said as she peered down at Marcia, "but I hadn't thought _this _short."

"Tough." Marcia set her jaw and held out her arms expectedly. "Gimme my son."

The woman handed Harry over without protest, and then rearranged her scarf and hat wordlessly as she studied Marcia and Nandin in turn. "I knew the Potters," she said finally.

Marcia's mood perked. "Really? See, I only met James when he was a ghost."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He gave me Harry to take care of."

The woman looked down her long nose at Marcia. Marcia wondered if there was a discreet way of checking her face (she didn't have soup on her chin, did she?) "I had wondered how you came to have the child, instead of Lily's sister or - well, that traitor will certainly never be heard of again," the woman added to herself. Without introducing herself, she pulled up an empty chair beside Marcia and sat a heavy-looking black purse down upon the table amidst the empty bowls and cracker crumbs.

"What do you know of the Potters?"

"Not a whole lot," Marcia admitted reluctantly.

"My son and the Potter boy - James - went to school _and _became Aurors together." The woman was silent for a long moment as she regarded Marcia with a closed expression. "On the night that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was killed, Deatheaters came to my son's housing looking for any knowledge of their leader's whereabouts."

Marcia had a funny feeling she knew where this was going, given how little she knew about the Deatheaters but having witnessed the gratitude of an entire culture for Harry's action. "They were tortured. I don't imagine you, being absolutely foreign to the Wizarding World, would know anything about what that means."

"Not really." Marcia knew a large number of ways to torture people, no thanks to her Shaktian training. Going from Shaktian mercenary to Gestapo interrogator to assassin required little more than a few sidesteps, a change of uniform, and some extra words added here or there in her job description and resume. Not that she was very good as any of these, but Marcia had enough tact to refrain saying anything.

"They were driven insane," the woman said abruptly. "Leaving to my care their son, Neville. He's not much older than Harry," she added conversationally. "My son nearly burnt down James' house lighting cigars when Neville was born." She stared off into the distance and Marcia peeked a look at Nandin, who was peering around for more cream. She considered kicking him under the table, but the last time she did he had kicked back - harder.

"Ah." The woman stood and handed Harry back to Marcia. "I wish you the best of luck. You have some very large shoes to fill." Without saying ado, the woman left Harry, Marcia, and Nandin.

Nandin snickered. "Literally and figuratively."

Marcia considered the satisfaction of kicking Nandin prior to being kicked back. "Not funny," she muttered. She and the others long ago stopped trying to tease Nandin about his own diminutive stature. The problem with teasing Nandin was that a tomcat is often an arrogant creature, satisfied with himself and completely oblivious to such things as embarrassment, shame, or guilt. Nandin had nothing he felt he needed to compensate for - the world, on the other hand, had many a shortcoming that irritated him to no end which, of course, he had no qualms against sharing. After all, misery loved company.

Marcia swung her feet beneath the table as Nandin eyed the package of crackers Harry had been chewing. Harry eyed Nandin back, and then hefted his plastic spider in warning against any possible theft.

"Nandin," Marcia began again.

"No."

"Let me ask-"

"No."

She huffed a pout. "What are you even doing here?"

"Mama wanted me to make sure you still had a roof over your head."

"I was going to check on that today."

"That fast, eh? Must be a new record."

Marcia sorted through that comment. "Hey! The castle still stands and the last time was Patches' fault to begin with!" She leaned forward, ignoring Nandin's grumbling of how she always used Patches or the Lord of Chaos to excuse her own actions. "I meant to say I was going to find another place to stay as an independent woman. A home here. So Harry can have a normal home."

"Harry lost all semblance of normality when his runes manifested."

Marcia rubbed her nose and considered the different ways of manipulating Nandin into helping. Unfortunately, he had already taken her cream. She looked over her shoulder and saw various people stopping to whisper and stare at her. Some of them looked like normal human beings, others looked like wizards trying desperately to blend in with the culture, but only managed to achieve the look of bewildered tourists.

"A normal place," she tried again, trying to ignore the observers; Nandin ignored them. Heck, Nandin didn't so much as breathe, so Marcia switched topics. "Harry and I were going to see this aunt of his. Wanna come along? It'll be like meeting family."

Nandin shuddered. "I remember the last time you dragged me along to meet family."

"Well, yes, but-"

"A new set of parents, who had no idea they were supposed to be my parents."

"I've already apologized, and-"

"And somehow, against all rhyme and reason – well, the Lord of Chaos _was_ involved, so it actually makes sense, in a very twisted way - that which I was not supposed to remember, I did."

"How was I supposed to know-"

"I do not like being confused. Being twelve, and having two hundred years' worth of memories that never will occur is _very_ confusing." Nandin managed to look very put out with Marcia, as if he expected she had deliberately planted those memories in his head, despite the fact that Marcia always felt that the Lord of Chaos was more to blame.

"Look," said Marcia as she began to feel a sense of desperation - Nandin dragged things up from more than a thousand years ago because of ulterior, often painful, reasons, "I was young and stupid and careless."

"Funny how _some_ things _never_ change."

"And besides – wait, what's _that_ supposed to mean?!"

Perhaps having made the point that he had wanted to make, perhaps feeling that was the root of this entire adoption, Nandin tore open a package of crackers and began to chew on one. "What's this favor you wanted to ask?"

Marcia felt up her pockets - they were suspiciously devoid of the crackers she was saving. "Where did - how did - what?" She hadn't even remembered seeing him move! "This is so mean! Mama said cats aren't supposed to tease the birds when the cats and the birds are related!" She waited for Nandin to respond, but now was the one time that he would remember that speaking with a full mouth was rude. She huffed again. "I've been harassed by all these wizards and witches interested in Harry."

Nandin stuffed another cracker into his mouth, and looked as if he thought that Marcia clearly deserved any harassment she was receiving.

Two can play at that game – Marcia could be sneaky and manipulative, even if her underhanded habits were often seen coming a mile away. "I think," she began carefully, sifting through her thoughts to find the most appropriately manipulative words, "that there's something dangerous about this hero-worship the lot of them have for Harry. I'm half-scared that they'd snatch him up and run away."

Nandin snickered; her manipulation wasn't working. "Sydney, if Time can't outrun you, how are wizards and witches going to steal Harry away?"

Marcia hunkered down in her seat and simmered in frustration. "But not all thefts have to be _physical_," she muttered darkly. "Because I love him, Nandin. When I look at him, I feel my heart swell with pride and love until I'm about ready to burst like a bubble – it's only been a few days, we don't know much of each other, but I love him. He's my son. But if people think I can't be a good mother and if they think that Harry shouldn't be my son, they'd take him away from me. They'd steal him through the courts and through laws and all that fiddle-faddle."

Nandin licked the crumbs from his fingers, looked forlornly at the empty cream vessel, and then reached over and patted Marcia on the head. She sputtered angrily at the indignation of being treated like a lost puppy instead of an older sister in need of comfort.

"What the heck?"

"Sydney-" Nandin's voice undercut her own just as Harry crawled across the table to Sydney and held his arms out to her. "-you're a mercenary."

"Was," Marcia corrected automatically, smiling brilliantly at Harry as she swept him into her arms and hugged him tight with a squeal of delight. Harry squirmed and babbled something. Was that-

She checked. Yup. He needed cleaning. "Hold that thought," she told Nandin as she grabbed her diaper bag and hauled off to the restroom. An odd gaggle of old ladies in various mismatched clothes followed after her, their eyes wide and adoring. Marcia made quick work of Harry's diaper, and then tried to slip unnoticed from the restroom. The wall of old ladies packed in the door discouraged that idea, and she stared at them as they stared at her. She was contemplating slipping between matter and getting around them until one little old lady, round as an apple with just as cheery a disposition, managed to squeeze through the wall of old ladies and wiggle over to the garbage disposal.

Marcia watched in barely-disguised horror as Harry's used diaper was fished out and hugged close. Another old woman rushed over and tried to wrestle it away.

"No!" cried the first, fending her off with a waving wand and nearly poking out her own eye at the same time. "I saw it first! Mine!"

That seemed to be the cue to the others – as if in slow motion, the other old ladies surged forward, and Marcia had a flash of what it meant to be so famous that one's fans literally rips one to pieces.

Feeling suddenly intimidated, Marcia did the only rational thing.

She slipped through matter and cowered behind Nandin. "Make 'em go away!" she cried, clutching Harry and the SuperCoop close. Wise from years of dealing with their own children and (often) grandchildren, the old ladies not fighting over something that had belonged to Harry easily tracked Marcia outside. Nandin sighed and grabbed Sydney's purchases.

"Where do I follow?" he asked tiredly.

"To Number Four Privet Drive!" Sydney cried, grabbing Nandin and yanking him along beside her, across space and matter.

They both felt rather breathless when they popped up on the Dursleys' doorstep. "Remus said that Petunia's supposed to be a Muggle – you know, a wazzit. Non-magical person," Marcia told Nandin as she straightened her hat and then twisted Harry's sailor hat in what she thought was a daring angle.

"Oh, good," Nandin said blankly, "no need to worry if she's grateful enough to run away with Harry's dirty-"

"Hush!" Marcia banged a few times on the door and then, for extra measure, leaned on the doorbell.

They heard the lumbering footsteps before the door was swung open, revealing a large, red-faced man with a bristly mustache and a sour-smelling temper.

"Hello!" Marcia greeted happily, holding Harry up. "I'm Marcia Runes and this is-"

"I TOLD YOU TO STAY OFF MY DOORSTEP OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE!!"

The man slammed the door hard before him. Harry, startled at the voice, burst into screams and began to smolder. Marcia sat him on the porch and quickly smothered the flames with her new hat as Nandin stared at the door.

When Harry had finally cooled off and quieted down, Nandin turned to Marcia with a tight smile.

"Have you met before?"

"Me?" Marcia looked back at the door, down at Harry, and then at Nandin. She had irritated many people over her vast lifetime, but she was _almost_ positive she had never crossed paths with this person.

Almost. "I…I don't _think_ so."


	10. Chapter Nine: Process of Adoption

Marcia pounded on the door, feeling the wooden frame bending beneath her fist. More time passed.

"I can hear them breathing," Nandin said.

"I can smell them breathing!" Marcia snapped impatiently. They heard the approaching lumbering footsteps and stepped back in anticipation.

It was only by their inhuman speed that they were not doused by the bucket of frigid ice water the man drained upon them, bellowing incoherently about harassment and lawsuits and how his family would have nothing to do with freaks.

The sight of the water was enough for Harry to burst into screams and hot flames, so Marcia set him firmly down in the puddle to prevent the fire from spreading. Harry's mouth formed a silent O in shock before he finally sniffed and gurgled, patting his hands against the water. Nandin sighed and shook his head.

"You're going to have to change him if he gets wet."

"I'll auction it off and make a million galleons," Marcia replied snidely.

One of Nandin's eyebrows went up. "As I saying earlier," he began, "you're a mercenary."

"Was."

"At heart," he added smoothly. "There are just some fundamental things about you that haven't changed over these years. As a mercenary, you don't hinder yourself with social norms or too many moral values. Or poverty," he added as an afterthought.

They were, Marcia always felt, the heaviest luggage to drag along. Still, she thought she was more than just an irresponsible mercenary, and she hunched and glared at Nandin, waiting for the axe to fall.

Nandin continued onward, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. "You seem uncommonly worried that they'd take Harry from you. Sydney, if you really wanted and loved Harry, then you _wouldn't_ be worrying-"

"-I do love him! I do!"

"-and let me make my point."

"Hurry up then. You're wandering all over like Ilene."

Nandin winced. "I probably deserved that. Fine then; if they tried to take Harry from you, you are perfectly capable of snatching him up yourself. The long arm of the law can't catch you, whether they use brooms, horses, or jumpships. Walls and doors can't stop you – you slip through them like butter. And besides that," he added flippantly, "the entire family will probably support your kidnapping _just this once_."

"As long as they still have visitation rights?"

Nandin was silent for a moment. "As skillful as you are of outrunning the messes you create, do you really think you can hide from our parents forever?"

Marcia eyed Nandin, still expecting some sort of axe. It hadn't been nearly as painful as she expected, and he was right. But he still missed the point. The point was that she _wanted_ to do this right and proper. Running muckity-muck and helter-skelter without regards to proper place and time was what got her into all sorts of messes, and she loved Harry enough not to want to do that to him. She didn't want to burden her son with her crimes and problems. Responsible adults didn't do that to their children! Responsible adults had a good home and a good heart and made sure their child lacked nothing.

"But this is still his home and James Potter still wanted Harry to go to Hogwarts. I want him to know all his family!"

Nandin looked pointedly at the door, which loomed over them, quiet and mockingly.

"Maybe James has family," Sydney muttered, not willing to admit that there were always some relatives each family was better off not having – even the Runesking family had its fair share, as well as the share of a dozen other dysfunctional families.

"There's a young toddler in this family; Harry seems to have a little cousin," Nandin said, craning his neck and looking over the house.

"Yeah; I can smell 'em."

"So can I. I can also see the diapers hanging over the windowsill and drying."

"Diapers?"

"Cloth."

Marcia boggled at the idea of not using disposable diapers. She supposed that there were still people concerned about things like landfills and the suchlike, but still… "I'd like Harry to know about his family anyway, and have him go to school here and–"

"Heads up." Nandin stepped to the side and Marcia snatched up Harry and ducked before another mini waterfall of water came tumbling overhead from the window above.

"That does it!" Marcia cried angrily, shaking her fist at the house.

"Not going to have anything to do with them?" Nandin asked curiously as Marcia hefted her purchases and SuperCoop, and balanced Harry on one hip. She marched purposely down the drive, her baggage bouncing at her side and Harry dripping a trail of water.

"If they don't want to have anything to do with me… I'll show them!" she declared passionately as Nandin trailed behind.

"What are you going to do?"

Marcia ignored Nandin's question and the odd looks people on the streets gave them as she marched down the block and swung up a street. She stopped before one house with a nicely-maintained garden with its pathways swept clean and flowers blossoming brightly in a planter beside the door. "This is a nice one," she decided out loud, craning her neck and looking all about.

"Sydney?"

She turned and faced Nandin, her jaw set stubbornly. "Nandin, go in there and convince those people to sell me the house."

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "_Say_ what?"

"I'm moving here."

"_What? _Of all the crazy stunts you've pulled-"

"They hate me that much, then fine! I'll give them a good reason to!"

"-what makes you think-"

"And furthermore - ouch!" Marcia clamped a hand over her left ear, dropping nearly all her packages and Harry at the same time. Nandin bothered moving enough to catch Harry, who took one look at his uncle and burst into flames with a scream of fright or anger. Nandin set Harry on to the ground and took a hasty step back before his clothes did anything more than smolder threateningly.

"Ouch! Ouch!" Marcia rubbed and tugged at her ear, frowning unhappily. "Oh, rats!"

"Now what?" Nandin asked warily.

"I don't know!" she moaned in reply. "Message of some sort from the IOU and apparently there's some sort of discrepancy with the information – damn it! Most advanced technology in the universe my butt! They should have cross-referenced everything when I was there!"

"Better take care of it if you don't want to get fined and carded."

"I know! I know!" Marcia shoved her SuperCoop into his arms. "Be careful with that," she said needlessly. She studied Harry and his flames for a moment, suddenly aware and feeling quite awkward of the passing people who were stopping, staring, whispering, and pointing. "I think Harry needs a nap."

"It's probably been a long day," Nandin said agreeably.

"Yeah, well, just make sure that you get me this house. Lock, stock and barrel. I'm going to need the furniture; living out of cardboard boxes is fine and all, except that they're flammable."

"I'll try not to bankrupt you during the process," Nandin said snidely. Marcia glared at him sharply but his face remained blank and his eyes flat.

Marcia flapped her hands a few times, flexed her fingers, and then grabbed Harry and Jumped immediately.

Nandin studied the flames that crackled and popped a few seconds where Harry had been before muting themselves, as if to wonder where its source went, and then disappearing from existence. "She's either getting better, or that was a fluke." He was thoughtful as he approached the front door and leaned on the doorbell. It was a fluke, he decided, because if she was ever that good, she wouldn't manage to get tangled into half the trouble she managed, but yet never understood why.

* * *

She changed Harry's wet things in a snap, her muscles already aching from the day's excursion and the Jumping she did. The muscles in her back twinged painfully at the thought of Jumping four galaxies away. SHe would have preferred taking Harry along, but that would require more energy than she had and the last thing she needed was to lose Harry somewhere along the line and have to explain the mechanics to wizards why leaving someone suspended between matter was Not A Good Thing.

So she carefully swaddled Harry in a blanket, and then stuffed him in the fireplace. Harry yawned and studied her wordlessly, still clutching his spider as Marcia fumbled with some matches and lit one. She watched the flame flickering for a moment before flicking it so it landed next to Harry's hands. Eyes wide in wonder, Harry reached out to the still-lit match. As soon as his fingers touched the match, flames burst up and around him, wrapping itself protectively around his body but never consuming – only guarding. Marcia noticed that the spider and blanket were unharmed.

"You…" She was silent a moment, and then winced as a sharp whistle pierced through her brain again, and the broadcasted message to return repeated itself. "Bah!" She'd get in and out – hopefully within the next three or four hours. Having been fed and changed, Harry should stay out of trouble.

_Should_ being the operative word here.

And because Marcia knew all too well how Chaos happened, she knew she needed to let Dumbledore or someone know where she was at so they could monitor Harry.

Maybe she should have left him with Nandin, Marcia considered as the message finished. She studied Harry, and then shook her head. No; Nandin disliked children. As much fondness as he might start having for Harry, she knew it was only because Nandin knew he would have little to nothing to do with Harry until Harry was old enough to be fully potty-trained and had a vague idea of what respect he was to display to wiser, more experienced, to-be-respected elders.

Right. So this was the only choice she had.

Marcia ducked out of the suite and hurried through the hallway, frantically looking for someone – Bill! That was it! She could con him into baby-sitting and then none would be wiser and… and…

"Hey!" she yelled, skidding to a halt, "You!"

When the figure turned around, she realized it was Snape. She almost told him to forget it, but the message pierced her brain a third time and she clutched at it, staggering as the pain amounted, as it would for each time it was sent and she did not answer. "Hey," she began again, focusing to hear her own voice, "got some unfinished business with the IOU – if I don't want to get imported, gotta take care of it. Harry's napping in the fireplace, should be fine until I get back." Then she Jumped, leaving Snape behind with a somewhat befuddled look he failed at hiding.

* * *

_ Fireplace?_ This was a curious place to put a baby. Surely no one would be _that_ careless … but then, considering how easily she had dragged Harry into the woods; and then look at what happened! – must have been mauled by a wild beast, just as she should have _known_ would happen if she actually used those two random brain cells blissfully bouncing around in that otherwise empty skull of hers to _listen_.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Snape went down the hallway to her suite, wanting to see precisely those very flames that had destroyed so many lives while yet… while yet saving so many more.

* * *

"I'm sure she arrived," Dumbledore said with a worried little frown as he and Umbridge walked swiftly down the hall. "I felt her come, and I know I feel Harry's presence."

Umbridge snorted. "The sooner we can get these papers signed, the better."

Remus trailed behind them, nervously twisting his hat. He feared seeing Harry given away to a stranger, like a doll – or a puppy, but, but it had to be for the better. Harry was better off in a woman's care than a werewolf's, even if that woman could easily pass as an eight year old (perhaps even six, with the right amount of lace) and was as batty as that Trewlaney lass. (To be perfectly fair, Trewlaney had a better excuse.)

Remus shoved the thoughts away before they poisoned his mind anymore. He didn't want to resent Marcia, didn't want to resent Sirius for everything that happened, didn't want to resent James for passing his beloved son off to some creepy stranger. But it was so hard.

What did… _why_ was _she_ so much better than him, he who had grown up with James? Sure, he had a monthly problem that turned him into a frothing-at-the-mouth monster but, as far as Remus was concerned, that didn't make him any more different than most women!

He shoved the thoughts away again, forcing his mind to focus on a blank, comfortable, _safe_ silence. Harry, after all, would be safe. That much was obvious from what he knew of Marcia. As much as she might have cherished Harry like a hyperactive girl would the brand-new doll she had been craving for so long since seeing it in the shopping mall's window, she would not let any harm come to little Harry-

"Ah, here we are," Dumbledore declared cheerfully, quickly opening the door to Marcia's suite and stepping to the side so Umbridge may enter first.

-would protect his life with her very own-

Umbridge screamed and dropped her papers.

Remus whipped his wand out and immediately leapt forward without a single thought of action entering his mind. He saw Harry in the fireplace- burning! Snape was trying to kill Harry! – and his vision flashed red as he yelled something, anything, and pointed his wand at the murdering, lying, silver-tongued two-faced bastard that was going to destroy their hope, the one person most innocent, most beloved for all whom he had known!

Snape ducked, yelling something about how it wasn't what it looked like, and then Harry screamed and the entire place went red. Sweltering heat blasted Remus in the face and flung him backwards. He fought against it, tears blurring his vision but then Dumbledore was shouting and the chaos ceased as the elderly wizard forced himself forward, the orderly eye of the storm.

As Remus' eyes refocused, he could hear Umbridge yelling about children's protective services and how Snape had been lying all along.

"I was not lying! The shrimp told me-"

"You were _stabbing_ him with the _fire iron_-"

"Now, Mrs. Umbridge-"

"You were trying to _kill_ him you _Deatheater__scum_-"

"I WAS NOT-"

"-_burning_ any _shred of evidence_ that could-"

"This is _enough_ from _both_ of you-"

The yelling and accusations rolled into a cacophony of sounds. Above it, Harry was screaming, and then there was burning, more burning, a cleansing burning that was purifying everyone – his bitterness and resentment, the pain of loss and betrayal – and then were was just darkness.

* * *

And in another galaxy, far, far away, someone was raising her voice in self-righteous indignation. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WASN'T ME YOU WERE TRYING TO CONTACT? I DON'T HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD UNLESS THEY'RE BROADCAST THERE!"

* * *

Ria looked up from her paperwork, wary and distrustful.

The Lord of Chaos smiled brightly as he seated himself across from his granddaughter, crossing his legs and resting his arms nonchalantly upon the chair's arm.

"What do you want and…" Ria eyed his right hand and would have gone deathly white if she wasn't already like that. "Is that one of Sydney's walky-talkies?" she demanded suspiciously.

There was a look of innocence on the Lord of Chaos' face as he turned the little black box over in his hands. "A fascinating thing, this piece of technology," he said in a lilting voice. "Patches taught me how to use it. Remind me to thank her for it, later."

Ria's expression hardened. "Better not do so in _my_ dimension or the one with Sydney and Harry."

He feigned hurt, his left hand flying up and covering the part of his chest where a heart would otherwise beat. "You wound me! I never did anything to Sydney or Harry!" He held the expression for a moment before smiling brightly. "But you may want to visit her very soon." He stood as dismay filled Ria's face. "Oh, and by the by, you may wish to bring a lawyer."

"A _what_? _Again_?"

* * *

**Author's note:** This chapter is much shorter than usual and yet, amazingly enough, was also one of the hardest to write. This is because Snape wasn't listening to me all those other times when I tried to get Umbridge to catch Snape in the act of, ahem, stuffing Harry in a fireplace and burning the evidence. The next chapter is being much easier to write and will finish up the "Baby Harry Arc," leaving Harry and Marcia to age a few years (well, Harry at least) so we can skip into the Halfling Arc. :) 


	11. Chapter Ten: Process of Adoption

* * *

Marcia's return to Hogwarts was met with a strange, awkward silence. It was the sort of silence that followed a horribly embarrassing fiasco that would never be mentioned by anyone at any family gathering or reunion, because the very shame of it greatly outweighed any entertainment value as a story told over beer or hard apple cider.

It reminded her all-too-much of the time she returned home, only to find that half of the Great Northern Kingdom had melted. She knew that Patches was intimately involved, but she was never told the finer details. Or the bigger details. Or anything else, come to think of it.

And the silence here in Hogwarts gave her the sneaking suspicion that she was directly involved in whatever horribly embarrassing fiasco had occurred. Which meant that Harry-!

Her heart thumped madly in her chest and her muscles shook with exhaustion as Marcia rushed to her suite. She stopped up short and downwind of it and winced at the heavy stench of sulfur and burnt materials. She worriedly chewed her lip as she slowly and cautiously approached the suite. The door was blackened and hung from metal hinges that were grotesquely twisted from the heat. She peaked around the corner, trying not to breathe in or disturb the soot that coated the walls, floor, and ceiling. Nothing but ash remained of the furniture within, or the floating red wagon with all of its supplies.

Harry, she realized with a sinking stomach, was nowhere in his fireplace.

_Now_, _this_ _is_ so not_ my fault_, she figured rapidly. Harry was unusually mild for a fire demon, and she knew that runic demon babes _only_ lost control of their abilities when they felt threatened. She also knew of various demonic mothers who could leave their children alone for hours at a time, and if _they_ could return to their children perfectly unscathed _in the Realm of Chaos,_ then why was it so much harder to believe that Harry was going to be perfectly safe napping in his natural element in a place that was supposed to be a school for children, for crying out loud!

"This is just ridiculous," she grumbled, noting that there was also nothing left of the curtains. That, at least, was one bright side: there was no evidence of her sabotaging school property for a headdress.

Bah! What was she thinking? Harry was her priority, Harry!

She had to find someone who knew what was going on, and that someone had to be Dumbledore. She would trust no one else, it seemed.

Nose in the air, Marcia went up and down hallways until she caught his scent beneath the stench of sulfur, and then followed its twining path through the gigantic castle. She winced when she came across an older current of Umbridge and Remus, but because they were older she decided to forego them for now. And it was just as well, because she shied away from any possibilities of what could and would happen if Umbridge had seen Harry's fire so out of control.

Most of the hallways and rooms were empty of people, but it was later at night and she suspected that the children had curfews and were tucked in their beds (_except perhaps Bill_, said a voice that was suspiciously like Snape, so Marcia bundled it up in titanium handcuffs and pitched it out of sight out of mind). Guiltily jamming her hands in her pockets, Marcia focused her senses, sniffed the air, and then sought out the areas that best carried Dumbledore's scent – a clear indication of where he would be most likely, as such places tended to be where his presence most occupied.

The classrooms were empty.

She followed his scent then to what appeared to be his apartment. It was easy to Jump past the gargoyle that refused to get out of her way, even when she kicked it hard and battered her toes. She looked around at all the odd little bric-a-brac that cluttered the walls and the shelves. There was a squawking bundle of fluff seated upon a bird perch that had Marcia curiously nosing closer to inspect. The fluff peered back at her with one beady eye, and then unexpectedly sneezed a melodious puff of smoke.

Marcia stumbled backwards from the smoke, rammed her foot against a lower shelf, and made the entire set of shelves sway precariously away from the wall.

"Eeek! No!" Visions of books and bric-a-brac spilling everywhere, once more leaving her pathway strewn with debris and mayhem, danced through her head. She grabbed at the shelves and shoved them hard and still against the wall. Unfortunately, she failed to catch the battered old hat when it tumbled off the very top shelf and into Dumbledore's fish tank.

"Oops." Marcia gingerly grabbed it by the hem and yanked it free. After it sputtered water for a moment, it began to swear vividly at her. While things swearing at Marcia and blaming her for their troubles was nothing new, it was odd that it should come from an old hat that looked like it should have unraveled a few hundred years ago.

"It wasn't my fault," she mumbled as she tried to wring excess water from it. It screeched in protest, so she hastily dropped the hat onto the dry surface of Dumbledore's chair. The hat stopped sputtering and fell silent, glaring at her from its creased folds. "Okay, on a scale of one to ten for creepiness, you rate a twelve," she declared.

"You aren't one of the students up to mischief!" it replied, as if affronted by this fact.

"No, not a student."

"But up to mischief nonetheless."

What could she say to that? It wasn't often when someone spotted her right off, especially when it was an inanimate object. Or at least _should_ have been an inanimate object. "I'm looking for Dumbledore," she said hurriedly before it might go further and accuse her of something. "Actually, I'm looking for my son, Harry, but he's not where he's supposed to be so instead I'm looking for Dumbledore 'cause maybe he knows what happened."

She only had him for two days and already Marcia had misplaced her own son! ("I told you," said another voice, this one very much like Mrs. Umbridge, so Marcia pitched it into the same bag as the Snape voice and winced as the voices began to scream accusations at one another. So much for that attempt at peace… She wondered if she should conjure up her Voice of Reason, which was often silent but did manage to pull off a very good Ria impersonation.)

"Oh, Dumbledore is currently at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"What? _What_? WHERE? Why?"

"Something to do with Severus Snape being under arrest once more for alleged aggravated assault and premeditated attempt of murder, and a young Harry Potter being reevaluated for registration and restraint under the Beast and Non-Human Division of the Department."

"Re-registration?! As in – my Harry doesn't qualify as human?" Marcia had a sudden thought of Harry being tagged, coded, and released into the wild to be observed by anthropologists who said such things as, _Behold, as the creature is groomed – he appears to have a great aversion towards water, as evidenced by the fires melting the linoleum floors, _and_We watch as the creature emerges slowly from his den to forage for food; observe his weakness for nachos._ It wasn't so bad when Harry destroyed a powerful, evil overlord of some sort that was terrorizing the rest of the population, but apparently it was a crime against all of humanity to melt a room at Hogwarts.

"Umbridge believes he is a-"

"Enough!" Marcia grabbed the hat and threw it on top of the shelf where it belonged. "That woman isn't going to do a single thing to my boy! Mark my words, _I'll_ show her a dangerous creature! Why, compared to Nandin when he's annoyed, Harry is a harmless little butterfly!" So, maybe Marcia herself didn't qualify as a dangerous creature, but she was going to turn up the vocal volume and whine, and become a force of obnoxiousness that _could_ _not_ be reckoned!

Hitching her trousers higher up around her waist, Marcia gritted her teeth against the prevalent ache in her muscles, and Jumped.

She returned a few moments later, one finger pressed uncertainly against her upper lip. "Oh, hey, uh. Do you know where this Department place is?"

The Hat sighed. "The heart of London."

She frowned. "Don't know if that will help. Doubt I'd actually find it on a map." With a sigh, Sydney Jumped once more.

* * *

By following Dumbledore's trail, she found herself following a strange network of glowing, light-filled tunnels that were, oddly enough, connected by fireplaces and the occasional portrait and mirror.

Somehow, this backwards little hidden society had stumbled across the secret of teleportation and demolecularization transition. She would stand and applaud them, except they probably wouldn't appreciate it coming from the dimension-hopping demon who grew up in a civilization so advanced that it was like comparing a stumbling, drooling toddler to a matured ballet dancer old enough to suffer menopause. (That being acknowledged, Sydney would have preferred to nick the information regarding how such thingamabobs were created and selling it to some of the richest entrepreneurs clear on the other end of the galaxy where it couldn't be traced back to Earth. Hey; a girl's got to make a living one way or another.)

She stood just outside of Time and observed Dumbledore's current location of existence. It was an old brick and staccato building; its insides had been converted and extended through some old dimension-warping magic that allowed a greater space to exist within. How… odd, but quite telling; she only saw the few rare multi-dimensional telekinetics who could pull off such a thing due to their ability to manipulate gravity. She was beginning to realize that there was so much more to the magic of these wizards and witches than she had first anticipated.

She shied away from such thoughts with long-born ease. She didn't want to think about such implications – she would not let Harry go. But she would do it right and legal; she would do it in a way that Harry, growing up, would never have to regret.

"I will not screw up," she declared boldly to herself as she finally stepped into the bounds of Time and landed within the Ministries of Magic. It became a manta in her head, an undercurrent of thought to which she desperately clung. It never wavered a beat when she chanced upon Umbridge and Lupin, both looking harrowed, harassed, and rather singed in one of the darkened hallways. The mantra remained unchanged when Marcia found herself surrounded by what she presumed to be high-strung officers of the law. She never thought different when she found herself unceremoniously tossed into a jail cell with threats of being forever barred from the Wizarding World, which was rather ridiculous because even the Lord of Chaos hadn't yet figured out how to keep in her one spot, much less _away_ from one.

But the mantra swiftly turned to thoughts of dastardly deeds when Severus Snape snarled at her from the next cell over. She hitched up her waistband, marched over the little window covered with bars that separated their cells, and grabbed them. She hoisted herself up, feet sliding against the side of the wall, so she could glare at him. He looked strangely sunburnt. "You aren't making this any easier!" she declared stubbornly.

Then she dropped to the floor, stuck her fingers into her ears so she wouldn't have to listen to Snape's caustic remarks, and tried to think her way out of this current predicament without somehow spoiling the rest of Harry's life.

Marcia was fairly sure that James had not intended his son to be a refugee on the run for the remainder of his centuries-long life.

She suddenly yanked her fingers out of her ears and hopped up the wall, clinging to the bars. "What're you in for?" she asked curiously. They could hear the other people packed in their cells, calling, crying, demanding and questioning. Most of the voices remained silent, but some were distinct and persistent.

His reply was a wordless snarl. She waited impatiently for a more coherent answer, kicking at the wall and staring with a clenched jaw. Snape stood and began pacing his cell from wall to wall, easily crossing the distance with three steps and whirling around with a dramatic flair of his robes. He wasn't the only one pacing on their current level in the dungeons, but he was the most agitated.

"They accused me of trying to kill James' brat."

She glowered. "What did you do while I was gone?" What was so horrible that it managed to overshadow her own mistakes she somehow managed to culminate recently? (Granted, she might be able to blame that one on Trewnaley… Maybe she ought to have asked the woman for some quick advice before she came? Couldn't hurt, at least.)

"_Nothing_!" Step step step whirl step step step whirl. "I went in to see precisely what you had done to the Potter brat and then that atrocious woman was in there screaming that I was trying to kill the brat, that I was burning the evidence, then I was attacked by a werewolf, and that brat decided to add fuel to the fire – hell, he _was_ the fire—"

"And you wound up in here."

Snape said nothing as he continued his frantic pacing. His whipping black robes reminded Marcia of storm clouds, of an omen of doom and gloom. But the look he gave her would have made Patches fall in love with him for the threat of violence directed at Marcia's person.

Marcia dropped down from the bars and settled herself on the floor again, her hands clasped between her knees. "I'm in here because I'm a menace to society," she said nervously. Snape muttered something about he could have told anyone just that, clearly, but they didn't listen to him, oh no, obviously, because that was precisely why he was here and why she was there because if they had listened to him then none of this would have happened and she would have been long gone and Harry would be in the care of that atrocious Muggle.

"Don't make me go over there and kick you in the ankle!" she yelled at him over her shoulder.

The muttering continued, unbothered by even another prisoner's call of, "Shaddup!"

Marcia had the sneaking suspicion that she had been deliberately tossed into Snape's neighboring cell in the hope that she would commit violent assault and battery, or murder, and then the authorities would have _actual_ dirt on her.

She groaned and buried her head in her arms, took a deep breath, and let the smells play over her tongue as she sorted out the meaning. Bitterness, rage, fear, frustration… She supposed she could sympathize with how rude and mean Snape was being to her, but she wasn't exactly in the best spot, either. Sure, she could easily slip out of here in the way that Snape couldn't, undeterred by the various spells that the high-strung lawmen had wrapped around her cell, but it wasn't as if she was having a picnic in here!

Marcia's stomach growled.

She glared at it as Snape stopped upright, and gritted her teeth as she waited for him to say something scathing.

It didn't come. She heard him sniffing the air, and opened her mouth to say something when she tasted it.

Smoke.

She jumped to her feet and hurried to the door that separated her cell from the rest of the dungeon. "That's… not good," she said weakly.

"It serves them right," Snape responded snidely. "They can all bloody burn as far as I care."

Marcia entertained the brief vision of a charcoaled hole in the ground in the midst of London, one naked little baby crawling around in the ruins and calling for his parents. While a barbeque sounded like a really good idea at the time (mostly because she hadn't eaten anything for a while, and her belly was just starting to growl), this really wasn't the best time or place. "I suppose I ought to go rescue the others from Harry," Marcia muttered.

Snape said something caustic, but she wasn't paying attention as she _slid_ through the warded bars and purposefully made her way through the halls, her nose in the air as she went towards the source of smoke, brimstone, sulfur, molten rock, fear, panic, and sadness.

The guards she had been unceremoniously marched past were all missing from their stations, either gone to stop the fire or fled out of danger. Marcia's pace quickened until she was running through the halls, and then she jumped upward and through the next two floors where the air was choked with ash and smoke, bright red embers floating lazily through the air. Coughing, Marcia cried, "HARRY!" She didn't bother to listen for any answer coming as she crouched close to the ground and quickly scuttled forth on her hands and knees. She found a few bodies of wizards who appeared to have passed out from the smoke, and even flipped their bodies over. Since she didn't recognize their faces, she flipped them onto their backs again where they were less likely to get smoke poisoning and continued on.

"This is either the bravest or the dumbest thing I've ever done," she muttered between gritted teeth as she crawled into the heart of the heat's worst; a blistering furnace of heat completely unlike what she had happened upon the first time with James and Harry, a heat that was sustained and fed continuously, unlike the sporadic blast that had rocketed a dimension and attracted her in the first place.

She happened upon Umbridge curled up in one of the corners, enclosed within a magical sphere that seemed to protect her from the heat and smoke. Marcia poked at the sphere, partly because she was a crow demonling and poking at unusual things was what Marcia was given to do, and partly because Umbridge looked so hysterical that she was on the verge of insanity and, well, poking Umbridge was probably something that Marcia was going to be doing for a long time to come.

"That demon brat is going to destroy us!" Marcia was glad for the protection of the sphere. She had a feeling that the frothy spittle that flew from Umbridge's lips would have landed on her face.

"Yuck!" Marcia declared, before she began crawling away.

A bolt of some sort of electricity sailed over Marcia's head. The remains of Marcia's hair stood on end as she whipped around, dragged herself backwards on her butt, and stared accusingly at the maddened witch who had trained her wand upon Marcia, the tip of it glowing an ugly red. "He'll die!" Umbridge snarled. "All of you can die and bloody well rot in hell but I'm not going to!"

"You ain't exactly a saint yourself!" Marcia reached towards the magical sphere, and met with resistance that gave off brightly colored sparks.

Umbridge gave a hollow laugh. "Nothing can break my sphere! Avad_gerk_!"

Marcia, gritting her teeth, forced her hand _through_ the peculiar molecules. She wasn't given to just Jumping _parts_ of her body, unless whatever she was trying to filch happened to be locked in a box that she herself was too small to fit in. Her arm within the sphere, she grabbed Umbrage's collar, twisted it tight, and then fiercely shook Umbridge back and forth until the woman's face turned white, then blue, and she passed out.

The magical sphere winked out of existence. "Totally not necessary," Marcia muttered as she left Umbridge face-up and began to crawl away. "But it sure felt good."

A few moments later, and she had crawled back to Umbridge's side. Gritting her teeth unhappily, Marcia flipped the witch over so her face pressed against the boards. With her conscious thus appeased, Marcia wiped the ash from her eyes, and turned to face the center of the storm: a whirling wall of demonic fire, white in the very core, flashes of purple and blue lightening rippling through and screams of madness shredding through the color. Black chaos lurked on the edges of the demonic firestorm, bubbling like wild mist rising from a hot spring.

A sane person, or at least someone with a healthy sense of survival would have turned tail and ran as far from the firestorm as their abilities could take them. Marcia, being neither sane nor even too survival-minded (that admittedly required more forethought than she often had), would have done just that anyway if she knew that Harry wasn't the heart and source of the firestorm.

Harry was her son. She was doing this because his father had superceded his rights as a parent to Marcia, because there were very few mortals who could gaze upon the inheritance of Harry's power with awe rather than a horrified fear, who would be able to walk through that power that no mortal could ever hope to withstand.

A power that was _increasing_, Marcia realized in dismay. "Oh no you don't!" she yelled as the wall seemed to bulge outward. Fire was not an element any of her family had – Marcia had only before dealt with earth, water, wind, snow, and the occasional bouts of sunshine (who knew that a sunburn was such a devastating wound?) – but she had the sneaking suspicion that the next thing that would happen would be an explosion.

And whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to stop the explosion one way or another.

* * *

A glowing doorway opened up and Ria stepped through it, her heavy woolen cloak gathered around her thin form. Seraph followed her, his eyes hidden behind his thick pair of glasses. They looked around at the bedlam that surrounded them as the doorway quickly vanished. Cloaked wizards and witches rushed around, magic flying through the air, panic unchecked as the building in their midst burned with a fury of a sun that was too close and too person.

"I'm going to need more than just a lawyer for this," Ria muttered as she hurriedly stepped out of the way of someone who was much taller and heavier than herself. "Do you think anyone would notice if I brought in an entire army of ice elves to douse the heat?"

Seraph adjusted his glasses and wiped away sweat that was already beading at his brow. The relative warmth of London's autumn was practically balmy compared the frigid temperature they had left, but the intense heat cast by the demonic firestorm was almost unbearable. "They might stick out like a sore thumb."

"Where's Sydney and Harry?" Ria demanded.

Seraph shielded his eyes and looked over the heads of everyone else. "I'm not seeing her," he said nervously.

"Naturally."

"Knowing Sydney, chances are that she's either beat a hasty retreat at the first sign of trouble, or she's in the very middle of it."

As one, Ria and Seraph turned to look at the firestorm.

"Why do these things always happen when Sydney and Grandfather are involved?" Shaking her head, Ria pointed a finger at the fire. "Well, it looks like we're all going to get in the middle of it."

"Do we have to?" Sighing, Seraph waded through the chaos that surrounded them, shouldering people out of his way and creating a little pathway for his mother to doggedly follow.

* * *

Marcia Jumped through space, battled her way past flames that were intent on destroying her, even reaching to the little sanctum that Marcia had always thought of her own. With a shriek of indignity – this was her space, and no demonic fire was going to tell her otherwise – she batted it aside and made it through the firestorm. It was hotter than anything else within the center, and Harry was screaming in anger and fear, his runes blazing white against his flushed skin and the scar on his forehead burned black, like it had been branded there with an iron. She landed beside Harry, glanced around at the crumpled body, leaned forward to grab Harry, and then whipped around to stare at the crumpled body.

She tentatively reached a finger out and poked. It didn't poke back – it didn't even stir. "Did you kill him?" she asked Harry over his screams. Harry grabbed Marcia just as she grabbed one of the body's arms and was going to flip it over. Her attention diverted, she drew Harry close to her side and his angry wails trailed off into sniffles and whimpered. "Whazza matter, mmm?" When her questing fingers trailed over his bare arm, they came away slick with blood. Harry cried and flinched away from her. Raising her fingers to her eyes, Marcia saw red – anger flared, and it wasn't Harry's fault this time. The scars that crisscrossed her back ached in sympathy as she brushed the blood away and saw a number.

A fricken' number.

They had carved a number on the arm of her son like he was an animal!

"Oh, this is absolutely bullshit! I've killed people for less than that!" She hefted Harry onto a hip and began kicking at the body. "You! Wake up already, you don't smell dead yet!" She finally planted a foot against a shoulder and forced the body face-up. "Look, I don't have all day for you to wake up so you can drag your own sorry ass out of here." Marcia cast a critical look over him, taking in the singed clothes and hair, the burnt hands… She paused to take a closer look at them, and while she bent over to see how far up his arms the burns went, Harry tearfully reached a hand out to pat at Lupin's face. "Friend or foe, Harry?" she asked him.

Since Harry didn't seem to be responding negatively to Lupin, Marcia figured for now that Lupin probably hadn't had anything to do with Harry being branded like someone's cattle. If Lupin had grabbed for Harry when it was happening, it might explain why his hands were burnt. "Okay, so I'll forgive you for now," she told him snidely. "But we gotta get out of here before we fry. Or you fry."

She tightened her grip on Harry and hooked an arm beneath Lupin's once she checked to make sure she wasn't grabbing anything that was blistered. Tugging him close as well, she Jumped once more, body straining to haul two magical creatures along through the wall of flames. They parted before her like a curtain, and Marcia spared enough of her concentration to glance at Harry. "At least you're coming in handy now," she said. "But after this is all said and done, I'm going to hole the two of us up somewhere in a cupboard for the next few years, and we can drink pina coladas together and just not worry about fame or fortune or little old grannies stealing your diapers from the trash."

They came out of the Jump outside the building, landing on pavement beside the beacon of white that Marcia instantly recognized as her mother.

"Oh, Sydney!" Ria called, hurrying over. She stopped and bent over to examine Lupin, who remained unconscious. "What's going on?"

Marcia opened her mouth to answer, but something sizzled through the air. She shoved Harry into Ria's arms and then both of them out of the way before a bolt of green smacked her in the head. Her vision went fuzzy as various wires and chips scrambled and short-circuited. Her language chip began to kick out various alien forms of Christmas tunes as the racket of the melee around was blotted out.

Forcing herself upright and blinking away the fuzz, Marcia knocked a hand against her ear. She saw Dumbledore swooping in from somewhere and Ria had moved to confront him, Harry wrapped safely in her robes, one hand flung out to point accusingly at someone who was flat on his back. Several witches and wizards stood stock-still and watched in wary fear while others were trying to cast spells on the firestorm to put it out. But a demonic fire wasn't going to be put out by mortal means. It required something far more stronger.

Marcia turned to Seraph, who had produced a vicious looking knife from somewhere and was hovering worriedly over her body. The wave of vertigo that came from moving would have made Marcia flip over and vomit all over the pavement, but her stomach was empty. All the better to flip-flop, apparently.

Seraph's lips were moving, but Marcia couldn't hear anything. "I can't hear!" she yelled, pointing at her ears. "Tell Mama to stop the fire!" Not waiting for Seraph to relay the message, Marcia turned to face Ria (another wave of vertigo, why, hello ground! Fancy meeting you up here!), struggled upright, and began to yell. "Mama! Mama! Put out the fire there's people in the prisons! Mama!"

Ria dismissed Dumbledore with an irritated wave of her hand and hurried back to Marcia's side. "The fire, Mama." Marcia fisted Ria's robes. "I can't hear anything, but there are still people in the building – please put the fire out!"

Ria stared at the building for a long moment, then nodded curtly as she slipped her cloak off her shoulders and handed it, Harry still bundled within, to Marcia. Flexing her fingers, Ria took several steps back as she closed her eyes and concentrated.

Marcia quickly unraveled the cloak and hid beneath it, leaving only her face free and uncovered. The surrounding temperature began to rapidly drop, and she saw Dumbledore come to Ria's side, saw the bushy beard around his lips move. Ria said nothing, but Dumbledore's gave flickered over to Seraph and Marcia, and then he swiftly backed away from Ria, flinging his arms wide and making gestures at the people who were gathering behind Ria.

The air turned icy cold and the abrupt change in temperature clashed with the demonic firestorm. Marcia watched in mute fascination as a whirlwind of frost whipped up around Ria as she summoned a cold far worse than anything this planet could have produced. The people behind her fell back even further, pushed by a fierce wind that was more than just sentient.

The Queen was calling upon her domain, and Winter was responding like a jealous lover, bringing with it an arsenal of frost, snow, and ice.

Harry clung tight to Marcia, fending off the cold with his own little heat. "Don't you dare burst into flames," Marcia warned him before Seraph yanked up a corner of the cloak – "Hey! You're letting in all the cold air!" – and ducked beneath it, wrapping strong arms around both her and Harry. The wind rushed over them, stinging their faces with frost as smoke and ash were forced away.

It would only get colder and worse. "Tell me when it's over," she told Seraph before grabbing the corner of the cloak and pulling it over her face. As she burrowed deep and wrapped herself around Harry, her body shivering from the cold and pain, the language chip cheerfully launched into a round of _Frosty the Snowman. _

* * *

By the time Marcia's hearing was returning, the demonic firestorm had been turned into a column of crystalline blue ice that reflected a very pretty sunshine above. Still wrapped up in the heavy wool cloak and her arms around her own personal little furnace, Marcia poked her nose out and glanced around. Ria and Dumbledore stood together, speaking to four very stern-faced older men. Seraph stood just behind Ria, but he moved to Marcia's side when she hissed at him.

"What's the scoop? Should I continue playing dead?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. Apparently an otherwise one-hit killing spell glanced off your head and they're all expecting you to be alive."

"Eh?" Marcia was tempted to tell Seraph that her language chip got stuck on _The_ _Nutcracker_ and she had been listening to it for the past twenty minutes on loop, and that would have killed her before any high-flootin' spell could have.

"Everyone is thinking that the shifting gravity and winds caused by Harry's firestorm shifted the spell enough to brush against your head rather than hitting you directly."

Marcia tightened her hold on Harry. He had fallen asleep some time ago and looked so quaint and innocent in her arms. "Just… just how close did it come to hitting me?" she asked

Seraph shrugged and looked away. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "You are immortal."

"Yeah? Well excuse me, but the thought of being an immortal _vegetable_ is hardly appealing!"

Seraph sighed and fiddled with the stems of his glasses. "It smacked you head-on, directly, dead-center. Satisfied?"

Marcia sulked. "Better. At least the worst that thing can do is make me listen to Christmas songs for the rest of my life." When the paperwork got straightened out she was going to have to visit an alien neurologist to reset her language chip.

"Anyway, Mama is quite mad that you were attacked after rescuing Harry and the other guy from the fire, and everyone else is quite mad that you are out of prison, and no one is pleased to see the damage that Harry is capable of."

Marcia growled as she looked down at Harry. She brushed a finger over Harry's number.

"But being a queen apparently affords Mama a lot of status that neither you or Harry had. That, and Mama's also making sure she's going to get all the worth she can for putting out Harry's fire."

"They're just going to say that it was Harry's fault to begin with and they don't owe a thing." That's what Marcia would do if she were in their position.

"Oh, they tried that already, but Mama said if that was the case then they better start hoping she's feeling generous to melt the ice before taking all of us – Harry, especially – far and forever away."

Marcia twisted around to look at the pillar of ice that stretched upward several stories. It stood as a testimony of Ria's power and control over the harshest of all seasons – and that even a fire demonling who destroyed the greatest enemy of the wizarding world couldn't hold a candle against her. Literally. "That one would be awkward to explain to the authorities. I bet they can always blame it on global warming."

By now, Ria and the others had noticed that Marcia was up and stirring and they walked over to her side.

One of the older men stiffly nodded his head to Marcia. "We're currently gathering up the papers now," he told her formally.

"Matters will be settled before we leave" Ria told Marcia. "With Harry your responsibility, you can take him with you rather than stuffing him in a fireplace."

Marcia wanted to say that it wasn't really her fault in the end, but the truth of the matter was… the truth of the matter was, she was indeed at fault. She had to act more responsible, put more thought into her actions, and face the consequences when they arose. It wasn't just herself that was going to get into trouble, because now Harry was going to get intimately involved with the mistakes she made. Yeah, Marcia wasn't perfect and she would undoubtedly find even more problems to get herself stuck in, but she could lessen the rate of occurrence by hiding in some cupboard under the stairs and staying there for the next ten or so years.

Except that hiding wasn't a very adult way of handling life's problems, either.

"Right," Marcia finally said meekly. Her hand closed over the number carved into Harry's arm. She knew of a good plastic surgeon who could wipe away any trace of the carving. She also knew she could effortlessly sneak into records and wipe away any trace that might be on file regarding Harry's number. Then she'd scramble the records so _no one _could be traced to their numbers, because Harry was still a person and shouldn't have to be tracked like a criminal.

But she wouldn't say a word. She wouldn't give anyone a hint of her deadly thoughts. Marcia was slowly coming into her own adulthood, and it was a very daunting, very deadly thing if she kept up this line of thinking.

"How's Lupin?" she asked Dumbledore. He smiled kindly at her.

"He's resting."

"I know that his burns were bad."

"Not too bad. Lupin heals very quickly."

Marcia would have asked Dumbledore how Lupin got burned, but she didn't want to know the answer. She would wait until later, when he was alone, and ask him privately. "What about Snape?" At the darkening expression two of the stiff men were giving her, Marcia hastened to add, " 'Cause he said he was in trouble for Harry being in a fireplace, but it wasn't Snape's fault, it was mine. See, Harry was upset, and when Harry's upset, he calls up fire. The fireplace was a safe place for everyone so Snape wasn't really trying to hurt Harry."

As one, everyone looked at the pillar of ice, and then back at Marcia. "About that," Dumbledore began.

"Harry uses fire for protection," Marcia cut in. "And until he's old enough to know better, to control his instincts and urges, he has to be protected from anything that he's going to perceive as a threat. Or stuffed in a fireplace where the damage can be kept to a minimum." She glared at the rest of them, silently daring them to tell her that sticking Harry in a fireplace was considered child abuse.

Dumbledore smiled tightly. "Well, at least all's well that end's well."

Marcia hugged the sleeping Harry close, and that was when Marcia suddenly realized what being a mother was about.

It was about protecting, nurturing, loving, and accepting someone who was too vulnerable to take care of themselves. Most of the times, the choice is made freely and planned for, but other times the choice is shoved into your arms before a decision is reached. Ria didn't have much a choice when Marcia had imposed herself upon Ria and Turk, but both had accepted the decision and made the best of it. Marcia hadn't so much has the choice shoved into her arms as much as she sort of tripped over it and decided take it home with her.

It didn't matter that Harry had destroyed the darkest wizard of Europe. It didn't matter that Harry was powerful enough to melt rooms and burn down ancient buildings beset with many layers of magic.

It _did_ matter that Harry couldn't feed or clothe himself; he didn't know the difference between right and wrong; he didn't know who to trust or why. All of that was to be _her_ responsibility; it was up to Marcia to shape Harry into a socially-acceptable (mostly) human being, taking Harry as far as she could before finally releasing him to his own fate and his own responsibilities.

* * *

Marcia behaved exceptionally well during the little time it took for the adoption papers to be drawn up. She even managed to keep all snide remarks to herself, _and_ Harry asleep and flameless the entire time.Admittedly she should have waited until she and Harry were out of sight before she boogied a victory dance, but then again, she was still _only_ human. Mostly.

* * *

**Author's note:** Wooo. Snape was extremely difficult and didn't want to cooperate in this chapter, so it took several month's worth of rewriting, but I managed to finish up! I was originally going to have Sirius held in the cell on the other side of Snape, but those two were just murder on the scene. Just murder. D Now we can go into a time jump and a Harry who is far more entertaining than a pyromaniac baby, and more frequent updates! 


	12. Chapter Eleven: Moons magic

Remus Lupin: a man, a werewolf, a survivor of the war and currently quite broke. He had been half-sure that he ought to refuse Marcia Rune's scribbled, nearly illegible invitation to "com see Harry cause he's bin talking about u and my mighty ship oh yea and we can get pina coladas. pak a nite bag." Part of his reluctance was rooted in the fact that Marcia and Harry had completely and utterly disappeared for two years without word (minus a get-well-soon card that had anonymously appeared in his hospital room where he had been treated for burns incurred from demonic fire) once the adoption was finalized. The other part of his reluctance was because his hospital room was right beside Umbridge and he had heard _things_ that he really didn't want to hear.

The invitation included a bizarre set of directions and a map. After much internal debate that ended with admitting to himself that he _needed_ to know how Harry was doing and how well he was being taken care of (all that, _and_ he was getting tired of sleeping on park benches), Remus set out with the map and directions. It eventually led him to the red clay roof of a random building that he never before noticed. There was no sign of a ship anywhere and he felt like a fool. He skirted the roof's edge counterclockwise twice per Marcia's directions, made his way to the center, waved a white handkerchief, and flatly recited, "Beam me up, Scotty."

A beam of neon-green light surrounded him so suddenly that Remus had dropped his night bag and grabbed his wand from his pocket before he realized that it was somehow pulling him above the ground. He arched backwards and winced when the bright light pierced his eyes. The grip on his wand was clammy as it tightened. He felt his heart pounding within his chest as the light drew him into a metal room filled with bizarre flashing miniature lights and beeps.

Remus found his feet settling on a round, raised platform, and could see something moving in his peripheral vision.

When the light faded, he whipped around and immediately threw a stun spell at the movement.

Marcia collapsed with a soundless twitch.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he muttered as he quickly released her. She eyed him suspiciously as she rubbed the spot on her head that had clipped the edge of the platform when she collapsed; he couldn't blame her, really. Even he had to wince at the insincerity of his apology. "I'm not used to this sort of thing," he added lamely. He bent over, hooked his hands beneath her armpits, and set her up straight on her feet. She looked startled.

"S'okay. I shoulda warned you. Now, really quick." She planted both hands on her hips and managed to look stern as she craned her neck to look up at him. "Since you wizards seem to have as much experience with technology as my family does, here's the rules: do not touch anything that I haven't said is okay to touch – this includes blinking buttons, flashing lights, talking voices, the AI challenging you to a game of poker, the vending machines, joysticks, toggle pads, gizmos, gadgets, doohickies, thingamabobbies, and whatchamacallits."

Remus looked around the bizarre room. It was a cool metal with circular angles, almost as if he was enclosed in a bubble. He looked at the platform, with its various wires, buttons, and colored light. It reminded him of some of the sci-fi shows he occasionally watched on the telly when the opportunity presented itself, secretly marveling at the imagination of Muggles and their innocent ignorance in toting science above magic.

It had struck him that perhaps Muggle science was some sort of unconscious desire to make up for the lack of magic in their lives. Because of their constant drive to overcome science, Muggles were constantly moving through a state of change.

The wizarding world, on the other hand, was stagnating.

Disturbed by his dark turn of thoughts, Remus turned his attention back to Marcia, and how she was pointing out the large, heavy tapestries that covered her walls. "These are different doorways to different worlds that I have permanent ties to. This is one," a tapestry of dragons, "is to my Uncle Gabby's islands. It'll open right up to the dragon pens, so if you accidentally stumble or sleepwalk through it, you'll find yourself surrounded by some very big, very mean dragons. I recommend not going there. Especially with the way you smell."

Which could mean many different things, since bathwater and soap were on Remus' list of unaffordable luxury items.

"They're trained to attack and kill anything that smells of moon magic."

Ah. It was because he smelled like a werewolf. He _did_ recall her noticing it almost immediately the first time they met. Somehow, death by dragon was not something that had ever occurred to him, and he also realized that was probably a good idea to avoid just such a fate.

"This one goes to Mama's kingdom," Marcia continued as she pointed at a tapestry that depicted a gentle forest scene with friendly-looking deer (a misconception if Remus ever knew of one, because deer packed a really nasty kick). "You can wander in and out of there if you want, but the frost gremlins might toss you into the dungeons if they thought you're a threat. I know I sometimes have to fetch Harry when he goes wandering off to see Mama. That one," the tapestry was sheer black with no color, no embellishment, and no brocade, "goes to the Realm of Chaos. Actually, it leads right into the Ada Bastion, which is kind of the Lord of Chaos' abode, so don't go there. Ever. At all."

"Why do you even have it?"

Marcia broke out in a cold sweat. "Uh. Because I got loads of family there. I like my mother's grandmother, and it's easy to go see my father."

Remus thought about that for a moment. "And because the Lord of Chaos said you had to?"

Marcia flinched. "It's not like he already can't go anywhere he doesn't want to! He doesn't even have to make the effort like I do." She performed a full-body shake that made Remus think of a bird fluffing up its feathers after being dowsed with water. "Anyway, Harry's in the pilot room. Um." She nibbled her bottom lip and looked with worry at the sliding door across from the platform Remus had arrived on. "Harry's going through this phase. He, uh, thinks Mama is the Universe's coolest person – I think that's the lingo these days – and so he wants to be _just like her_ when he grows up."

Marcia looked disturbed with this idea, and Remus couldn't help but roll his eyes as he thought, _Someone is just a little bit jealous_.

"I'm not trying to be activity discouraging, per say, 'cause I think that Mama's a good roll model. But, uh, if you can think of anything that could rectify the current situation, I would be so grateful for your help – the child psychiatrist I visited insisted that Harry should figure it all out on his own."

Remus managed to hide his wince.

"I also just want you to know that my brothers are all sadistic bastards and I had _nothing_ to do with this."

Remus had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he remained silent as he followed Marcia over to the door. He watched in fascination (and amusement) as she stood in tiptoes, pried the top plate off the controls beside the door, and bounced up and down to reach the top layers of buttons.

"It's a child-proof lock," Marcia explained between jumps. The panel silently slid open, and they both stepped through the other side. "Doesn't stop Harry though," she muttered.

Remus reached a hand out in wonder to touch the cold metal walls, marveling at their smooth texture. He could feel a faint vibration beneath his palm. "In the future, will all Muggles have this technology?" Marcia looked at him, her face still and eyes shrouded behind those reflective glasses.

"It's available to anyone with the resources."

"Will everything be as advanced as this?" Remus wasn't completely familiar with Muggle technology, but hiding out in their world when trying to avoid the prejudices of being a werewolf gave him more knowledge and experience than most of the wizarding world in general.

"Oh, it already is. There's loads of advanced alien cultures out there, billions of different worlds connected through the System. Earth will eventually make contact with them in about four hundred years."

"Doesn't knowing and telling about the future change it?"

"I technically don't exist, so what's there to change?"

Remus supposed that was a possibility he never considered.

Marcia gave a woeful sigh. "Of all the things that my education neglected to prepare me for just such an occasion of not existing and time-traveling, I never memorized the entire list of every single Kentucky Derby winner in existence."

"Was your education supposed to prepare you for just such an occurrence?"

"Tragically, no."

Marcia finally led them to a different room. It had three large chairs bolted to the floor that faced a long, rectangular screen and consul that was lit up with numerous colors. Something stirred in the chair, and a head peeked over the top. "Oh! Oh! Uncle Remy!" Harry's head disappeared behind the chair. The chair swiveled and rocked a moment as Harry clambered out of it, and then excitedly hurried to Remus with a few stumbles over the hem of his crimson gown.

Remus was speechless as he scooped up the careening Harry, and then cast a dark look at Marcia. She ignored him as she walked over to consul, stood on a small stool that allowed her full reach, flipped a metal square around to reveal a keyboard, and began to type in directions. Mindful of Marcia's commands not to touch anything, Remus gingerly seated himself on the edge of the chair furthest away from Marcia and pulled Harry away.

"Hello, Harry."

"Missed you." Harry frowned unhappily, and touched Remus' unshaven cheek. "You're rough." He didn't speak with a lisp, but there was a characteristic slur of his words that Remus suspected had more to do with Marcia's speech than Harry's current level of development.

"And you're…" Remus fingered the material of Harry's dress. "Silky." The dress was a bright monstrosity, really, with too many yards of white eyelet lace and – were those _crystals_ sewn along the ribbon that graced Harry's waist?!

"It's very pretty!" Harry wriggled free of Remus' grasp and twirled on the floor, the hem of his dress flaring outward. Remus shot a look of askance at Marcia, who did a wiggling dance with her arms and legs that seemed to say, _Why are you looking at me? I said I had _nothing_ to do with this!_ "Uncle Rufus said I look just like Nanna."

Remus couldn't remember if the Queen of Winter was given to wearing lacy monstrosities – he didn't think so. The few, brief encounters he had with her (a dainty, pale woman with water red eyes who had kindly brought him a large bouquet of daffodils during his hospital stay, and a picture of Harry wrapped in furs as he rolled around in a bank of snow) gave Remus the impression that she was a subdued woman who relied on subtle grace, rather than silly gaudiness.

Unable to think of how to respond to Harry's… feminine side… Remus opted to change the subject. "How's your training?"

Harry pressed a finger against his lip and frowned in thought. "Papa says I'm getting better at dodging." He smiled, and Remus forgot to breathe at the sight of such brightness on a face that still made his chest ache when he tried to recall his friends before they died. "I can control my fire, now!"

"Boy, can he ever," Marcia muttered darkly from where she was fiddling with a… doohickey.

"That's nice." Remus had the sense to be horrified at the idea of Harry controlling the very same fire he had seen consume the Ministry. That had certainly taken a lot of officials an awful lot of time and effort to clean up. He was told some rooms, used for storing valuable information and artifacts, were unharmed. But other rooms had suffered. For instance, the records room that contained lists and numbers of crossbreeds or dangerously cursed people – his name included, since he was a werewolf – had been burned so thoroughly that the Ministry could only hope to manually document everyone all over again, and they hoped (mostly in vain) that people would be honest and forthright about their status. And that, Remus believed, was one of those cases where honesty was probably not the best policy. "What can you make the fire do?"

Smiling proudly, Harry lifted his arms above his head, and the lacy sleeves fell around his shoulders to reveal arms that seemed too heavily muscled to belong to a three-year-old boy.

"Not by the consul!" Marcia declared firmly. "George is in sleep mode and he's going to _stay_ in sleep mode!"

Harry blinked at that. "Oh yeah. Come on, Uncle Remy." Harry gave his adopted mother a wary look. "Can we do it in the bedroom?"

Marcia was carefully scrutinizing something on a flashed screen. "Don't trigger the oxygen stat's alarm, 'kay?" She waved them away. Harry eagerly grabbed Remus' hand and tugged him along, out of the room and down a hall. Just as they rounded the corner, Remus heard Marcia mutter, "I don't remember the British Air Force having _this_ radar."

Harry led Remus to the left, activated the door panel with a skilled wave and flick of the heavy beads around his neck, and rushed in. Remus carefully studied his surroundings before stepping forward. It was a much smaller room than the other two he had been in; the walls were lined with different sized drawers and cabinet doors, and two small pallets lay on the floor next to the far left wall. One was an unruly nest of blankets and pillows, and the other slightly rumpled with two skewed pillows and a wrinkled quilt. Harry sat on the latter pallet and patted the spot beside him as he craned his neck upward.

Remus gingerly sat down, suddenly self-conscious of how his clothes hadn't been washed for four days and how the quilt smelled clean. Sure, there were charms to keep clothes well-maintained and clean, but even the best of spells couldn't replace good old fashioned soap and water. He also didn't like the direction his thoughts were taking him; Remus then decided that he simply would refuse to mope so long as he was with Harry. "I'm surprised you remember me, Harry."

"Oh, you're easy to remember! But watch, Uncle Remy! Watch!" Harry raised his hands in the air again, and Remus winced as he watched Harry's sleeves fall back. It was disturbing to see the spitting image of James Potter dressed in something even _Lily_ wouldn't consider wearing. And then he noticed something different.

The last time he had seen that stretch of skin on the inside of Harry's elbow, it had been raw and weeping blood from the fresh tattooed number magically etched into his fragile skin. It had been a requirement shortly enacted just after the War peaked, when all captured dark creatures and their offspring were numbered like prisoners. Without thinking, Remus snatched at the arm for a closer look, and then dropped it when a whoosh of flames immediately blossomed into being between Harry's extended hands.

_ Well, there goes any eyebrows I might have had before now. _

Harry flashed a bright smile at Remus, and then turned back to his fire. He frowned thoughtfully and studied the suspended flames for a moment before they began to twist and change shape. Remus watched in silent awe as Harry wordlessly manipulated the fire into different spiraling shapes. A square; a heart; a rose; a diamond; a pinwheel. Each was constructed of different colors and varied levels of heat. Sweat beaded Harry's forehead when he finally released his fire; the pinwheel evaporated as if it never existed. "I can't hold it for very long, but Papa says that I'm doing really good." Harry shyly peeked at Remus from beneath his fringe.

Remus felt a slow smile inch across his face. Those last moments he remembered of Harry, clutching him close and trying to stifle blood flowing down the chubby arm from the newly carved numbers, he remembered the fire that surrounded them, that grew with each passing scream of pain and terror. Fire that had engulfed the room, that dragged unsuspecting bodies into its flaming depths, fire that had even attacked Remus – it was now _controlled_, just as wizarding children eventually learned to control their accidental magic.

Remus's relief was so palatable that Harry touched his sleeve, his little brow wrinkling in concern. "I'm proud of you," Remus whispered as he gathered Harry – silly silken dress and ribbons and all – into his arms and gave him a big hug. _Oh James, to see your son now!_ Okay, maybe not _now_, as he was sure that James might have a word or two about the crossdressing, but in general… "Um, Harry? Your dress is-"

"I don't usually wear it when I'm working with my fire, 'cause I don't want it to get ruined." Harry smoothed the fabric out with one of his hands.

That was a start, Remus supposed. (Goodness, was Marcia raising a _hedonist_?) He wondered what the best way of broaching the argument of how it was inappropriate for a fine young man – or boy – to be wearing dresses his grandmother might approve for her granddaughter. He was saved from trying to make another attempt by Marcia's entrance.

"I gave them the slip, so we're on our way to a little cantina just on the other side of the galaxy. We'll arrive in a few hours. Here." She held something out to him – a square piece of plastic, sort of like a Muggle ID.

Remus gingerly accepted the ID and held it pinched between his two fingers. Unreadable text scrawled across its surface, like the way he remembered runes crawling across the pages of his Ancient Runes textbook. "What's it for?"

"That's your visitor's pass. It'll keep the both of us out the can because you're a terrestrial resident from a non-licensed planet. Not that they would be able to hold me in the can anyway, 'cause I'm a D-Hopper, but that's 'sides the point. Anyway, are we having fun yet?"

Harry nodded his head vigorously. "I showed him my fire!"

"Dressed like that?"

Harry stuck his lower lip out in a pout. "I didn't singe it."

Marcia frowned and looked as though she wanted to say more, but Harry twisted around in Remus's lap and firmly placed his hand on the middle of Remus's chest. "You don't care, do you?"

Oh no; there was no way he was going to be pitted between a toddler-aged wizard demon, and a toddler-sized demon (okay, a _prepubescent_-sized demon…)! "Marcia, what happened to the numbers?" He traced his fingers along Harry's forearm.

Marcia's expression darkened. "Oh. Took care of those almost immediately." She tapped a finger firmly against her skull, just below her ear. "Due to some miscommunication and magic, my language chip got scrambled and I was forced to listen to Christmas carols for the next couple of days. Anyway, I went to see a specialist to get it fixed, and there was a plastic surgeon's office located in the same building. Harry and I just nipped right on over, the surgeon surgically removed the skin containing the numbers, spliced and replicated the skin cells, and then reattached the new growth. Viola, no scar and no number!"

Remus imagined a whooshing sound to accompany Marcia's explanation as it flew right over his head. "Speaking of language, Harry seems very advanced for a three year old."

"Benefits of a language chip – he's got one like mine. It's almost a requirement for interUniversal travel." They both fell silent then, and Remus allowed Harry to wiggle free of his grip to dash out the room ("Show you more stuff, Uncle Remy!"). Both adults followed at a more leisurely pace.

"Say, can I ask you a personal question?" Marcia glanced sideways at Remus as she spoke, not quite directly meeting his gaze. "Not that I'm trying to be nosy about you, but more about certain considerations in general, 'kay?"

"I can't guarantee I'll be able to answer it, but you may."

"Your curse and it's interaction with moon magic-" Marcia was silent a moment, her lips shaping silent words before she continued on in a breathless rush, "-do you suppose it has anything or everything to do with your moon? Because there's a lot of moons out there, and I wonder about the implications of their effects on you if we happen to land on one. Would you turn into a wolf then, or is it just your Earth's moon? And is your curse connected with how much light the moon sheds when it's full, or with its position with the earth's equator and subsequent effects on gravity that causes the trigger?"

"I… I don't know." Remus was stunned with all the different ideas jammed into her questions. He felt embarrassed to admit that he didn't know anything more about why the full moon triggered the werewolf's curse, other than it being, well, magic. "I don't know." His voice dropped into a whisper. "All that anyone knows is that the full moon itself is what triggers the curse."

Marcia's eyebrows shot up. Something akin to a sly curiosity and glee was creeping across her face and into her voice, and it was making Remus start to sweat in worry. "Maybe it's got something to do with the particular energy wavelengths between your sun, moon, and earth that connect with your own energy wavelengths, so maybe other moons won't have the effect. Kinda like sister or child auras."

"Auras?"

"Ooooh, there's so many different avenues to explore!"

"Is that safe?" Remus demanded hurriedly. Marcia was taken back from his irritation. "What about Harry? I cannot bite him, Marcia. I _will not_ risk him for your curiosity!"

"Oh please." Marcia dismissed his worries with a flutter of her hand, and Remus felt the sudden urge to snarl and snap at her. "I move faster than time itself. Make one threatening move towards Harry, and I'll personally drop you off the Ada Bastion, and - Harry! Put that back!"

Harry hid whatever he had behind his back, out of view of the adults. "No!" He stamped his foot, and little sparks flew up from the floor before they died out into nothing.

"George personally said that he's scramble the molecules in those straws if you so much as thought of flying in the ship again when it's in motion, and I'm already fighting him over his hacking into Russian military files this morning. Gimmee."

"NO!"

Remus quickly sidestepped the wave of searing heat, and thought it best for now if he allowed Harry and Harry's adopted mother settle their conflict. Besides, his thoughts kept straying back to Marcia's different questions of what, exactly, about the full moon had such an effect on the were curse.

Remus Lupin: a man, a werewolf, a survivor of the war, currently quite broke, and, apparently, Guinea pig extraordinaire.

He supposed it could be much worse, but he didn't really want to follow that line of thought because, with his run of bad luck, things _would_ get worse.

oOoOoOoOo

The Lord of Chaos perked up.

What fools these mortals (and technically-don't-exist immortals) be!

* * *

**author's note:** I do apologize for the long wait in updating. I've been busy with nursing school once again, but I have been working on a general outline for events and ideas, so the chapters probably won't take so many months to write. Thanks for your patience, everyone! Comments and reviews are always appreciated.


End file.
